


artificial collision (of the mental variety)

by orphan_account



Series: artificial burnings of the 3rd degree [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Mentions of suicide attempt, Multi, alternate universe - present day but completely different, mentions of depression, more to be added as we go on, oh how the turn tables..., pete is a soccer star and patrick is still the lead singer of fall out boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz was never a famous bassist, or a musician at all.</p><p>Pete Wentz is a world-renowned 29 year old American soccer player, married to Ashlee Simpson-Wentz and father of their son, Bronx, as well a widely known philanthropist, writer, and poet. He has a dog named Hemingway, has homes in both Chicago and Los Angeles, and runs a successful journal-slash-blog.</p><p>(He also may or may not have been in love with Patrick Stump for eight years and counting.)</p><p>(Who may or may not hate his entire being.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and, by chance, did you miss that spark?

**Author's Note:**

> firstly, i want to say this is my very, very, very late contribution to bandom as i jump on board years too late to finally catch on to the homoerotic subtext that is fall out boy and bands altogether.
> 
> secondly, i've fucked around with the ages and dates and all sorts of things to make this verse what it is, so for your own benefit i've included a timeline up until the (alternative) present day. you're welcome.
> 
> thirdly, i want to apologize for the lack of slash in this arc. yes, i've said arc--as i plan to break this universe in four segments, two separate arcs, and one big, hunk of text. it's only half planned, half written, and i have a bit of a record for giving up on things i put too much soul into. but, if all goes according to my lovely plan then in the future i have ryden, onesided!frerard, possibly some joncer, and various other things to throw in as we go along. 
> 
> also, i'll go ahead and warn you, once i run out of pre-written sections, updates will be sporadic. as much as i'd love to stay at home and write rpf for days and days, i cannot. life carries on and it carries me with it. i'll try and do updates every thursday/friday, but no promises.
> 
> finally, enjoy.

**TIMELINE:**

early 2001 - fall out boy (pete, patrick, andy, and joe) "forms"

mid/late 2001: pete and patrick start dating  
late 2001: fall out boy starts working on demo

early 2002- pete and patrick have a falling out  
pete reconnects with ashlee via a house party (previously met with mikey, gerard, and co. at a summer camp)  
pete and ashlee have a series brief flings; patrick and pete argue on which direction to go with with band  
pete and patrick reconcile around mid-march, trying to come together for the sake of band  
pete recieves a phone call from ashlee two weeks into april about her being pregnant  
huge fall out via pete and patrick; pete leaves the band to become "family man"  
mikey way replaces pete on his suggestion, re-record demo and send it off  
late 2002: pete goes back to college briefly, leaves to join soccer league  
late 2002: ashlee has a miscarriage

late 2003/2004- fall out boy starts getting a fanbase  
pete attempts to reconcile with patrick; failure  
pete signs on with a national league for football players; travels with them for a few months  
pete returns; marries ashlee late in the summer  
fall out boy signs with FBR and Island; release first album

2005/2006: ashlee's career takes off, pete continues his sports efforts  
pete gets MVP for his team  
fall out boy releases second album  
fall out boy takes on first tour

2007/2008: pete makes waves in the public eye with his blog and huge donations to charity  
pete attempts to reconcile with patrick; failure  
fall out boy releases third album, worldwide tour  
pete writes a small series of children's books

2009: fall out boy releases fourth album; second worldwide tour  
ashlee gets pregnant  
pete attempts suicide  
fall out boy goes on indefinite hiaturs  
patrick visits pete in the hospital; huge argument; still stays until pete's released with mikey "as support"  
pete attends theraphy for a short while  
pete begins work on autobiography  
bronx born near end of the year; ashlee and pete take time off from their normally public lives to focus on raising their son

2010: patrick releases solo album  
patrick's solo tour kicks off  
mikey and gerard form a small band with old friends frank and ray but essentially go nowhere with it  
andy and joe's solo projects  
pete releases poetry book; leaks on his own site two days early

2011: pete releases autobiography  
pete gets back into soccer career with ashlee's support  
fall out boy still working on solo projects  
mikey and pete start drifting after a "stupid" argument  
mikey meets alicia

2012: fall out boy secretly reforms  
pete plays with the us olympic soccer team  
ashlee's clothing line takes off again

2013: pete considers early retirement due to medical problems and a "burning need to see his kid grow up"  
re-releases his autobiography as the original, undrafted and uncut version; mentions his suicide attempt, the miscarriage, and in coded phrases, patrick  
fall out boy comes off hiatus  
mini concert tour; plans for arena tour are made but not confirmed  
mikey proposes to alicia

**?**

**\---**

**Q: thank u for ur donation 2 my school pete we really needed a new field and new equipment and now we do omg thank u!!! :-)**

A: well earned money does better when its well spent.

**Q: Pete, I just finished reading through your entire blog and your autobiography and I just want to say even with your hardships, you've come a long way and done so much good and that I'm so glad you're alive! Also, who is "Rickster"?**

A: u read all that?

**Q: omg i just luv u so much i met u last summer at a book signing and you said my hair was rlly pretty and omg my friend keeps tellin me u r gay but i kno u rnt bc of ash and bronx and leik??? why do ppl say that u r so nice and cool omg i wish my boyfriend was smart n hot lik u**

A: don'cha?

**Q: you're such a great role model. i hope bronx grows up to be just like you.**

A: hes going to be better. much better.

**Q: pete whos rickster???**

A: he's real. somewhere. out there.

**Q: Is Ashlee a good spouse?**

A: best around

**Q: did the miscarriage affect your marriage**

A: sure.

**Q: Do you ever miss your band?**

A: i miss a lot of things. cant change the past. and it wasnt really my band.

**Q: pete are you thinking about retiring early from soccer because youre like the best around and ive head the rumours and i dont think thats really you??!**

A: i think a of lot.

**Q: you looked really sad in that interview about your autobiography when you talked about the past. do you regret something, and would you change your decision?**

A: regretting is natural. can't say i'd change the change that changed my outlook on life.

**Q: You brought up your suicide attempt in your book and made allusions to it in the poetry you shared in the back of the book. Are you upset about making it?**

A: i was sending a message. he got it.

**Q: Who is Rick?**

A: his name's not rick.

 

\----

 

It's three in the morning when he gets the call.

Bronx tuckered out around nine, which is early when Pete has to put him down alone. Ashlee was out with her sister for some promotional thing, he wasn't too concerned about anything but filing through the piled up questions on his site earlier in the day. Hemingway was curled up at the foot of the bed, not quite asleep but almost there, though he jumped to full alertness as Mikey _fucking_ Way's custom ringtone went off. 

It was strange for two reasons: one, they hadn't spoken in almost two years, and two, _they hadn't spoken in almost two years_.

"Mikey?" He answers sleepily, shifting into a half laying, half sitting up position. "What the fuck, is it really you?"

"Dunno, I'm pretty sure there's not another Mikey Way in your fucking phone, genius. Unless you put Gerard under my name, like the fucktard you are. Christ, man, it's been like ages, where the hell have you been?"

"Did you only call to insult me?" Pete yawns, "I've been busy, same as you. Practice with the team, being the loving husband and doting father, a full day's job y'know."

Mikey chuckles, "Yeah, so I guess you don't have time to play best man to your best bro, then?"

"Shut the fuck up," Pete laughs, "You're getting married? I haven't even met the lucky lady to steal you away from me, how fucking dare you?"

"Well, for her to be stealing me away, you'd have to be actively participating in my life. Which, you know, you haven't been." His laugh fades. "Seriously man, what happened?"

Pete shrugs subconsciously, though a mirage of events and reasons float in his mind. "It's been a hard couple of years, man, I mean, you've been touring the fucking globe and doing interviews and writing music and apparently finding love, I've been competing in tournaments and taking care of my family and trying to sort myself out...I don't know, I've just been disconnected. With everyone, not just you."

"You're not...you know, whatever the doctor said last time I was with you?"

"Nah. I don't think so." Pete runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking, though. About what happened."

He can hear Mikey shifting wherever he is. Probably in the back of the bus, it's the only place he'd get any privacy on tour bus, especially after proposing. The band's probably throwing him a party, ruffling his hair and patting him on the bck and telling the girl plenty of embarrassing stories. Pete can picture it like he's almost there, even though he's not, never has been and won't ever be. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He lays back down, patting Hemmy's head and pushing him out of his face. "It still feels like yesterday we were in the basement, jamming away, talking about the demo album cover, and then Ashlee called...and then I just--I just lost myself. I mean, I've gained a lot, I wouldn't trade what I've got now, but it's like I'm constantly thinking about if I hadn't fucked up and lost the most important person in the world to me, would I even be having the problems I do now?"

"Probably not." Mikey notes.

"Probably not." Pete agrees. "I don't think I've ever been the same, dude. I'm almost 30 and I'm still trying to find myself, you know how pathetic that is? And I could've left her after--I can't even say it, damn it. I could have left and tried to fix things with, but I stayed here like the idiot I am and just dug my own grave, and she's great and she fucking knows it but we're not what we used to be, you know? I've seen the way she looks at other people and it's nothing like how she sees me. She can see every imperfection in me, knows everything I've been through, hell, she was by my side when I woke up in the fucking hospital, and she's still here. I used to think it was for Bronx, but I know it's not true. I gotta send you some pics of the kid, he's pretty big now. Gonna be four soon, shit."

"You were reflecting, man, I think somewhere long the lines of a breakthrough."

Pete snorts, "Shut up, dude, I'm getting there. Anyways, she's like, around, and she knows that's she's not going to have me the way Jess has Eric, but I try my hardest to be the picture perfect husband when we all know I'm not, that my heart's always going to be somewhere else. And I just love her for that alone, 'cause if I were in her shoes I would've left so long ago, I mean, who does that? Marries someone, has a kid with them, and still pines after somebody who won't even give them the time of day? An asshole, that's who."

Mikey's quiet for a beat or two. "You still love him?"

"It's not like I can magically stop, trust me, I've tried." He sighs. "I try to make myself hate him, think of all the things he said at the hospital, and that night in my room back at my parent's house, and I still can't force myself into seeing him for that, just that stupid, shy kid with a voice like an angel and fingers that had more talent than the entire West Coast. I can't even look at him now, Mikey. I see his face on a magazine or on the television and I feel like I'm being sucked into a black hole of memories. A song comes on the radio with him singing and I nearly drive off the road. It's ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous. I just need to let him go and move on. I mean, it's not like he's still dragging his feet and waiting around me for, right?"

"Right." It's belated, and Pete can tell he's rambled for too long. "The fact you can accept that is a big step in itself."

"Yeah, I know." It's a lie, but if he keeps saying it, then maybe it will be true. "But hey, you should tell me about this lovely fiancee of yours that I should be meeting very soon. Gotta know what stories to break out when I see her, which ones she's already misheard."

Mikey laughs, really laughs, and it sounds the same as it did almost two years ago. "Shit, where do I even start..."

**\---**

Pete Wentz was never a famous bassist, or a musician at all.

Pete Wentz is a world-renowned 29 year old American soccer player, married to Ashlee Simpson-Wentz and father of their son, Bronx, as well a widely known philanthropist, writer, and poet. He has a dog named Hemingway, has homes in both Chicago and Los Angeles, and runs a successful journal-slash-blog.

(He also may or may not have been in love with Patrick Stump for eight years and counting.)

(Who may or may not hate his entire being.)

**\---**

It's an early flight to LAX two weeks later, but Bronx is pretty good with traveling (he sleeps) and Pete uses the time to collect his thoughts while Ashlee rubs calming, well timed circles on the back of his hand. He can't do much about his leg hammering into the flooring like a jackrabbit but no one says anything about it, at least, not that he hears.

He carries his son on his hip, his head resting on his shoulder, and their light baggage in his free hand, letting Ashlee lead the way through the papparazzi, who swarm with questions of why they're there when Pete has a big league match coming up and commenting on the length of Bronx's hair and asking Ashlee about her new clothing line and he hardly even notices getting into a car when there's still questions floating in his head and pounding on his eardrums. It's not like he isn't used to the constant attention, though maybe not to that extent, seeing as he hasn't set foot in Los Angeles since That Day even though Ash is out there almost every other week to visit her family or promote something. It doesn't even really set in that he's there, in Los Angeles, California, until he hit his own doorstep, almost freezing completely as he goes to grab his keys (He recovers quick enough that his wife doesn't seem to notice.).

 

It's like he's not even in his own body, he thinks as he gets dressed later on. There's someone else staring back at the short guy in the mirror, tying a tie with wide, wondering eyes and thinking about trying to find a way to get out of going to the party they'd specifically flewn out for. He can hear Ashlee telling him to hurry up fifteen minutes laer, as he's trying to find his matching shoe, which should've been with the other one, unless Hemmy's gotten a hold of it in the short time that they've been there, which means there's no point in looking for it at all. 

They leave five minutes behind schedule, and Pete's shoes don't match his pants.

Mikey said it would be alright if they brought Bronx, seeing as his brother and his wife were bringing their kid along, and Ashlee says she wasn't planning on staying for too long if Pete was going to end up catching up with all his old gang, so once the first round of greetings is made they spilt off their separate ways, which is becoming more and more of a natural thing for the two of them. He manages to bump into the man of honor shortly after.

"MikeyWay!" Pete pulls him into a tight hug, grinning widely. It doesn't look like much has changed with him, maybe gained a pound or two, but he's still got that kissable face and hair that manages to make him look like a girl in the right setting. He looks good, though. He's cleaned up, dressed to impress, and he's got an equally big smile on his face that he knows isn't just for show, but a real one. "Congrats, man."

He seems to brighten at the thought of his impending marriage. "Thanks, really. God, it feels so surreal! We haven't even picked a place, and I'm already thinking about honeymooning and her moving in and--"

"Whoa, whoa, slow your horses, man." Pete chuckles, "One step at a time."

"Yeah, one step at a time my ass. C'mon, I want you to meet her. Get these stories out of the way while there's still drinks flowing."

Pete can't help but laugh, knowing fully well there's probably nothing that'll get anyone wasted within fifteen miles of the place, but he follows him along, nodding at people who acknowledge him and taking in his surroundings, the dim lighting and laughter and music that's all but faded away in the presence of the gathering of people--

And then, he sees him.

His first instinct is to pretend that it's his imagination and keep going, just listen to Mikey give an introduction to his new love and smile and nod and take her in for what she's worth, but his eyes float back in that direction on their own, laying eyes on him, chatting and smiling with another small group of people. It doesn't look like he's noticed him, which is good, because this isn't about them, it's about Mikey and Alicia and their soon to be everlasting happiness, but Pete suddenly feels tired and out of breath when Patrick even glances in his direction, never meeting his eyes or making some sort of connection that he's there and they're both in the same room and acknowledging it and throwing some sort of a fit or causing a scene, something that he'll apologize to Mikey for but not Pete, not Pete because he's doesn't deserve anymore apologies from him.

Patrick looks amazing.

Pete can't really tell too many details of his outfit from his position, just that he looks comfortable and wow, he's lost a lot of weight and he still has that face, that face with a smile that lights up the room and he's almost positive he can see a twinkle from his eyes even from where he's standing. He's got a glass in his hand and he's telling some story with a lot of gestures and everyone's laughing, they're laughing with him and not at him and he's not constantly grabbing at his hat on his head and pulling it down, but he's really grown out of his shell and he looks like he's genuinely enjoying himself, something that Pete only experienced when they were behind closed doors or out alone with each other. It's like he can't even breathe properly, only letting Mikey's words steadily flow in and out of his ears, and his heart's beating a mile a minute and it's been five years since they'd even spoken or yelled at each other and he can feel his hands getting sweaty like they get after games. 

Baby blues finally meet the staring browns.

It's almost funny, really--Patrick's in the middle of saying something and then their eyes meet and he stumbles, grasping at air. Pete wants to turn away, but it's like he's literally locked their eyes, and he might have taken in his breath a little loudly, because Mikey finally stops talking and sees him, then looks in the direction that he's looking and puts a hand on Pete's shoulder just at the same time someone--a brunette, not much taller than Pete if he's guessing right--does the same to Patrick. Their heads snap away at the same time, Pete's body feels like it's on fire and he feels like he's been walking around nude for the past few hours, face flush with embarrassment and adrenaline and God knows what else.

"We talked about this, man." Mikey pulls him out of his reeling mind. "C'mon, not tonight. Why don't you tell Alicia about some of our summer camp adventures, huh?"

Pete nods, but he's not feeling it. The feeling had stopped as quickly as it began, and he's back to feeling numb again. "Yeah, let me think of a good one..."

Ashlee comes by a little later, before she leaves, and greets the happy couple as Pete kisses his sleeping son's forehead. Alicia and Mikey both coo over him before Ash departs with a small, seemingly knowing smile, and as Alicia talks about how cute Bronx is and Mikey says something about their kid being ten times as cute and awesome, Pete longs for the days where he could at least pretend he was as happy as they are now, but he's all but burnt out now.

**\---**

There's only one more concert on their tour, about an hour outside of LA and Mikey swings by their house early in the morning, practically _drags_ Pete to soundcheck with him, saying that he won't ever regret going to a concert for a band that he could've been in and gets rewarded with a punch in the arm and Hemmy giving his shoes a longing look.

Breakfast is a Poptart scarfed down in the passenger's seat of Mikey's car and is not without music "to help with digesting" as he so lovingly puts it, which is really his way of saying "I know you haven't listened to the band you started since you left it, but guess what motherfucker? You'll know all our songs by heart by the end of the ride". Pete notes that he hadn't even seen Joe or Andy at the party, not that he'd really been looking for them, but then he wonders if they're even still apart of the band. The last time he'd talked to Andy he'd still been between bands, or at least that was the last time he could really remember, he hadn't made an effort to talk to him once he and Patrick had their falling out. Joe might've stuck around though, he and Patrick were too close of friends to not stick together in their musical ventures.

He's actually glad they're the two he sees first when he gets there, though, and Joe's grown his hair own while Andy's gone short. They still look about the same, though Andy's minus glasses, and there's no awkward freezes in their conversations; it feels like they'd picked right back up where they'd left off. It's comforting, really, even though they're mostly swapping stories about the past few years and yeah, Andy and Joe's are way better, but when Pete tells them about the hazing for his team and all the pranks they'd done during his first year that he was sure he'd get kicked off for, it's the way they laugh at the right times that make his heart swell with familiarity and a feeling of home. 

(Pete kind of hates Mikey for taking his job even though he was the one who offered it up to him. He should be living this life, out on the road with the guys he'd spent a decent amount of time with in his younger years, rocking out on bass every night with hundreds of thousands screaming his name, getting off stage and getting to get Patrick off--)

Mikey is the one that interrupts one of Andy's tour bus tales and reminds them that sound check is a a thing that needed to happen, and would someone please go get Patrick before the tech guys lose their heads? The question isn't directed towards him at all, but Joe's already grabbing his guitar and Andy's behind his drumkit so it kind of leaves no one else but him to do the job, and maybe Mikey's away of it and maybe he's not, but Pete tries not to think so hard about it and walks the couple of feet away to the dressing room, beating on the only closed door. 

"Hey, soundcheck is starting, so you should probably--" The door swings open before he can even finish the sentence and he's met with Patrick, face flushed and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He looks surprised, but not too surprised, yet he stares at Pete like he's an alien and for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up what little he's eaten, but then he speaks, voice smooth and crystal clear as ever.

"Pete," And there's the blood, rushing to his ears. "It's, um. It's been awhile."

"Yeah." He says stupidly, internally face palming. "It, uh. Has been some time."

There's an awkward pause. There's always an awkward pause.

"Soundcheck, you said?" Patrick clears his throat, fingers flying to the brim of the hat he's wearing, his own way of scratching his head.

Pete nods, and Patrick pulls the door shut behind him, giving him another quick once over. He's already started walking towards the stage before he turns back, looking at him up and down again.

"Something's different about you." He notes aloud. 

Pete can't even find the words he's looking for once Patrick's out of sight, not quite out of mind, voice in hearing range.

He's never been so speechless in his entire life, and _that's_ saying something.


	2. he'll give you coffee with a smile that you wish would melt your stony heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete finds friendship in strange places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know i said thursday/friday for these pre-written segments, but on thursday my friend dragged me to see catching fire, and yesterday i'd been utterly exhausted from running around all day preparing things for the holiday, as well as getting dragged out of the house for a movie marathon.
> 
> i would've have this up this morning, but of course, i had to clean house. but enough of my complaining, here is your daily dose of emotionally constipated boys with sides of adoringly supportive wives and equally supportive best friends. comments/critique/feedback is loved.

After soundcheck, the band (excluding Patrick, who immediately excuses himself to his dressing room, and Pete tries not to take it personally but everyone's looking at him and he can't help but feel a little self hatred for the moment) plus Pete gather on the couch and continue swapping stories, as well as goofing around on their instruments. Mikey teaches Pete the bass line to one of their more popular songs and it feels too normal to have the instrument in his hand after so many years. After he'd gotten out of Chicago, he didn't really feel the need to pick up his bass, and it was covered in memories he was trying to forget. He still wrote (he had the notebooks to show for it) but as far as putting words to music, he'd never been too great at it and he'd been busy busying himself with other things.

A part of him longs to have his own band again, travel the world and see the sights and perform his words with his mouth for crowds that thrived on the pulsing beats, but then he'll remember the most important thing in his life needs something stable and readily available and he can't do that thousands of miles away.

He can dream, though.

They're in the middle of a round of hackey sack, a good hour or two before the show when the brunette from Mikey's party shows up through the back door, all smiles and greeting everyone as he grabs a bottle of water from the cooler. He is about Pete's high, with dark hair and warm eyes that look like they're hiding something, and he's dressed in what he must deem comfortable, a light jacket and brown t-shirt underneath, tight jeans and expensive looking boots that match the scarf around his neck. Pete seems to fade to the background as the gang greets him, talking about setlists and the stage set up. Joe seems to notice Pete on the outer circle and waves him towards the group, slinging an arm over his shoulder as he joins them.

"Ry, I want you to meet Pete Wentz, douchebag soccer player extraordinaire who helped all us get together over a decade ago before ditching us for something new and shiny." He says, giving his old friend a squeeze as Pete elbows his side. "Pete, this is--"

"Ryan," The brunette speaks up for the first time Pete can clearly hear, and he's looking at him cautiously, as if he's debating something in his head. "Ryan Ross. I produce the stuff they put out there, and help out wherever I can."

Pete pretends not to hear Joe says something about "Patrick's pants" and it's only a few moments more, when he and Ryan are having a somewhat friendly conversation about music tastes that it clicks in his head, and he almost wants to go find Mikey to throw him off the stage. Joe too, for that matter.

Ryan catches Pete's subtle (read: blatant) glare fairly quickly, letting the rest of whatever he was saying fade away. They stare at each other in the room that's too spacious to feel so boxed in, alone as everyone had went off to change and do other pre-show warm ups, and for a moment it looks like Ryan's going to break the silence, but he doesn't get the chance to, as both their heads snap in the direction of a slammed door, hearing footsteps come down the hall. 

"God, where the hell is h--Oh." Pete's heart is right in his throat, looking at his now custom shoes (Bronx had gotten ahold of markers and scribbled over the whites of his Converse) and he feels underdressed even though he's backstage at a punk rock concert in a faded band shirt, zip up hoodie and jeans, feels Patrick's eyes on him and his--Ryan, right next to him. 

"Well, I guess this would happen sooner or later. No use in fooling myself otherwise." He runs a hand through his hair, and it's the first time Pete sees him without a hat in far too long. "I think I'm gonna get some air." 

"I think I might need to join you for that," Ryan says almost immediately, and Pete blinks only once before they're walking off, talking in hushed tones. 

It hadn't really occurred to him that Patrick moving on was actually...well, probable. Patrick could get anyone he wanted to with his voice and those eyes and lovely smile, and sure, Pete had done his on deluded version of moving on, but it wasn't the same. Just the thought of him and Ryan made his stomach turn. Patrick couldn't even look him in eye, didn't have to even confirm what was written all over his face. He couldn't imagine all the things he'd probably said to Ryan about him, that's probably why he'd given that calculating look earlier. How was he even supposed to know that--

He was going to kill Mikey.

("I am going to murder you," Pete hisses at Mikey, right as he preps to go on stage. "I will cut out your tongue, remove your eyeballs, slowly cut into each of your limbs, and then I'll light you on fire, just for the hell of it."

He is not responsible for Mikey nearly falling face first entering the stage.)

****

\---

Patrick hadn't been Pete's friend for a long time, and he strongly doubted he ever would be again.

Patrick Stump is a world-renowned 25 year old American singer, known better for his work with Fall Out Boy and his solo work rather than his well hidden relationship with lyricist and producer Ryan Ross. He can play a wide assortment of instruments, has homes in both Chicago and Los Angeles, and prefers to use his phone for basic functioning like calling and texting rather than social media. 

(He also may or may not have been in love with Pete Wentz.)

(Which he has deemed as a very low point in his life and decided that Ryan was a more thoughtful and ethical choice, and there are absolutely no lingering feelings whatsoever.)

(None.)

\---

There is a party after the show, and Pete was already out the door, but somehow he ends up getting dragged along, bribed by the promise of free rounds on Joe and the promise of company that will remind him how dumb he was in the morning from Mikey. He know it's not the best idea, but Mikey and Joe and Andy are his friends as much as they were Patrick's and even if they'd silently agreed to ignore the other's existence, it didn't mean he had to let them go, too. 

The last time he, Andy, Joe, and Patrick had been in a club together, it'd been after a small show where the crowd had been attentive enough to where he was a ball of energy, trying to not so discreetly drag Patrick off somewhere secluded, the boy not having much of it. 

_"C'mon, Pete, we should mingle a little." The strawberry blonde tried to hide his blush as his then-boyfriend grinds on his backside, clearing his throat as people passed and he tried to put space between them only to be pulled close again._

_Pete had chuckled, burying his face in Patrick's neck. "Only mingling I can see myself doing involves your body and mine, Trick."_

_Patrick had rolled his eyes, elbowing him gently in the stomach. "Didn't you get enough make up sex last night, asswipe?"_

_"I'm willing to piss you off again if you're offering," Pete reluctantly pulls himself away, instead leaning against the wall. Patrick sinks into the space beside him almost perfectly, small smile brightening his face. The lightning in the space isn't the best, but as long as he can make out the guy he loves, he's fine. "What's got you all smiles for miles?"_

_The boy shakes his head, almost shyly intertwining their hands. "Thinking, really. How long until you think Andy and Joe come searching for us?"_

_Pete scanned the crowd, picking out the top of a familiar curly haired male across the room. "I think we have enough time for a proper snogging."_

_Patrick snorts, "You've got to stick to American television, you nerd."_

_"Your nerd," Pete meets his boyfriend halfway for a brief brush of lips, the touch shocking his body like an electrocution. "Your super adorable yet extremely hot nerd. I'll do homework in exchange for handjobs and other illicit services."_

_"I think I'll pass on the homework before you bring down my GPA and have the teachers concerned with your schmoopy scribblings in the margins." He chuckles, and it makes Pete smile wide, ridiculous as he looks when he smiles, and laugh as their eyes meet, the happiness floating through the air, locking all of the outside world outside and leaving just them and their burning teenage love._

Pete shakes his head, returning to the present and as the evening goes on he mostly hangs by the bar, or trailing behind Joe as he talks to people; he'd always been more of a people person than the other four and maybe if the circumstances weren't like they were, he'd be cracking jokes with him, but he's satisfied with short comments every now and then, a small smile and short chuckle. It's weird not being in on the jokes, but being foreign to the the evolved music scene, he doesn't really have another option. 

Somewhere along the night he's on a couch with some up and coming act in the corner, and they're arguing about what line sounds better than the other, and the girl seems to think she's right but Pete knows that he is, pointing a finger at her just for her to bite. He knows it wouldn't be much to get out of there with her, having both of their inebriated states as an excuse, but he already felt bad enough being married with a fucking child when he wasn't even deserving of either, still harboring that unhealthy adoration for someone who was making out with their new boyfriend not even twenty feet away. A part of him wanted to go pull them apart, dig up some dirt on the guy so he could throw it in his face and pull Patrick into his arms like he was supposed to be, just like in his dreams, but he knew he'd only end up picking up the pieces of his heart again. 

His mind drifts of the last time they'd spoken, back at the hospital and the way he'd looked at him in total disgust for being so idiotic, to end his life out of fear and remorse. It was the most embarrassing moment he'd ever lived, and he can't even place another time Patrick's eyes had been so cold toward him, not even when he'd told him he was leaving. 

Pete shakes his head again, excusing himself from the couch. He didn't come to sit around and mope, he wanted to enjoy time with his friends. Grabbing a cup of whatever was currently going around and slinging an arm over Mikey's shoulder, he pasted on a smile and took the party head on. 

If he'd learnt anything from being in the public eye, it was how to fake something until you felt it. 

**\---**

The first thing Pete notices when he gets up is that he isn't at home. 

Of course, the next realization that he is alone is a huge relief, laying back down on the bed after shooting up to scan the unfamiliar area. His head is pounding, and his recollection of the previous night is all but existent. He closes his eyes for a few minutes, trying to will away some of the headache before he gets up and showers, his mind blank. He'd probably hit a Starbucks before heading home, packing up what little he'd brought to catch the next plane back out to Chicago, make up some story about fall training that Ashlee would roll her eyes at but not bother arguing about. The sooner he could escape, the better. 

He checks out of the sketchy motel, the attendant giving him a look as if she knew him, but couldn't place him. He's grateful she didn't, and after realizing that he had no vehicular transport, a nice walk would do him some good. 

It's easy to navigate the main roads of the city and soon he finds himself lost in the familiar hustle and bustle, the closed off roads with young teens surrounding the fences to catch glimpses of their favorite celebrities, the head nods of familiar faces he would've never guessed could recognize him him in such basic street wear and overpriced sunglasses, his hair flat without the usual careful styling, the flash of photographers as he finally makes it to the nationally loved coffee chain. It's surprisingly empty, but it is pretty early in the morning on a weekday, so he couldn't really expect too much fuss while he ordered and enjoyed his drink. 

The guy behind the counter is humming to whatever Billboard Top 100 is blasting through the speakers, dancing to the beat as he prepares one of the only other people in the place's drink. He's pretty cute, Pete will allow him to admit, short black hair swooping across his forehead, a big goofy smile not unlike his own plaster on his face, though his nose is a little odd, and the fact he's tall and lanky is a bit off-putting. His voice is nice, though. Distracting. 

"Sir?" The offending beauty says, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he raises his sunglasses to rest atop his head, squinting at the board even though he knows exactly what he wants. "Can I help you?"

"Gimme a sec," He holds up a finger, but the boy isn't bothered by it. "Ok, let me just get a vanilla soy latte and a regular black coffee." 

"Sure thing." He can't but be a little shell shocked at that bright smile, and he know's the kid's trying to restrain himself as he makes the orders, Pete pulling out his wallet to grab his card while he's doing so. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you're that soccer player who had that string of scandals a while back, right? I'm not trying to be rude or anything, and I'm not really supposed to ask these things on the job, but I can just remember your face, on some magazine I'm sure. "

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, that's me. Pete Wentz, nationally acclaimed fuck-up."

The kid looks taken aback by the choice of words but gives a tight smile, not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm sure all the world doesn't think of you that way."

"Well, I do."

Pete watches as the smile slips off of his face, but he puts the drinks on the counter. "Oh."

"Yeah," He shrugs, handing him the card even though he hasn't told him the total. Not that he wouldn't be able to afford it. "You have a nice singing voice, uh..."

"Brendon." He supplies with another half-smile, sliding the card. "Brendon Urie. And thank you."

Pete takes his card back, putting it away and grabbing his drink before giving Brendon a half smile and going towards the door, stopping halfway. "Why do you waste your time at a time-sucking job like this?"

This time the smile is one of fondness. "Not everyone can catch a break like you, y'know."

He doesn't know why, but he spends two hours in the joint talking to the third year college student about everything from music to tattoos, finding himself laughing and genuinely smiling more than he had in quite a while. His chest swells, and he's reminded of something that he can't place, not while he's soaking in all that is Brendon Urie.

It's kind of strange, he thinks, when he finds himself leaving with a smile on his face, and with a new contact in his phone. 

\---

"Ma's mad at you." His son greets as he gets home with a cold cup of caffeine just around noon. "She said she was worried like heck about you."

Pete ruffles his son's golden locks. "Well, I'm here and alive."

"For now." Ashlee appears, coming from the kitchen. "Bronx, lunch is on the table."

"'Kay." He scurries off, leaving Pete under the scrutinizing view of his wife. 

She sits on the couch, not looking away from him as she pats the spot next to her. He gulps, and he hasn't been so intimidated by a woman since he lived with his mom. 

"So," Ash gives a no nonsense smile, a look that he's more used to seeing Bronx on the other end of. "Care to catch me up on the last few hours of your life, dear?"

Pete stares at the cup in his hands. "I met this guy. At Starbucks."

Ashlee's face brightens, her smile being brighter, her hand going to rest on his back. "A date? Dude, seriously? You had me and Mikey worried sick, he called me at like 2 in the morning asking if you'd made it back because he couldn't get through to you and I'm freaking out because you aren't picking up, for all I know you could've been dead and you were on a date! That's...incredible!"

"You have to be the weirdest wife ever," Pete chuckles. "Who encourages this type of behavior?"

"A wife who loves and supports her stupid best friend for life. Plus, the sooner you get out there, the sooner we can stop parading around in this sham marriage." She says like it's obvious, flipping her hair. "Now spill."

Pete shrugs. "Actually, last night I think I kind of left my head, I can't remember much after I saw--" He cuts himself off, suddenly being flooded with the memory of the previous night. 

"Saw what?" Ashlee's hand moves to his. "Was it..."

"Yeah." His voice sounds choked. "Yeah, and he has a new boyfriend. He adores him, from what I hear. I couldn't really stand to watch them suck face just feet away."

"Oh, honey." She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "You didn't do anything, did you?"

"No." It's a lie. 

He can feel the regret as he replays the scene in his head, drunkenly pushing Ryan down, Patrick's face red with embarrassment. Or anger, they both looked about the same at the moment. 

_"What is your problem?" Ryan had snarled, Patrick moving to stand in front him._

_"Shut up," He hissed. "Shut up, right now."_

_Pete scoffed. "You're my problem, jackass. Just who do you think you are, coming around and--"_

_"Peter," He had finally looked away from Ryan's angry eyes and met Patrick's defeated ones. "You need--You can't do this. That. Not anymore. You need to go."_

_He scowled. "Yeah, ok. So you can get right back to sucking face, right? No problem, don't let me interrupt!"_

He'd stormed out without looking back then, and he swore he could hear them whispering about him. At the time he hoped he'd ruined their night out, but now he just felt sick and stupid. He voices this to Ashlee and she shakes her head, disappointed. "You're gonna have to apologize, y'know."

"I thought it'd be better if we all just pretended it didn't happen." He gave a weak smile, but he could already see the words forming on Ashlee's lips. "Okay, okay, fine. Next time there's a thing and they're both around, I'll do it."

"Good boy," She kisses his cheek, squeezing his hand gently again. "Speaking of boys, you mentioned one?"

Pete had nearly forgotten his morning with all his lingering pining. "Oh, yeah. His name's Brendon, works at one of the Starbucks in the city. Studying music theory and all that, got this cool tattoo on his arm he covers up with makeup for work, a pretty good singer, too."

Ashlee smiles, standing as Bronx exits the kitchen. "I don't think you'll ever learn that singers are no good for you."

"Maybe I just haven't found the one singing the right song," He grins, scooping Bronx up. "Jeez, bud, food goes in your mouth, not on your face."

The child laughs, hiding his messy face in his father's neck, and for once, Pete feels like he's at home.

**\---**

Pete and Brendon text a lot over the next few weeks at odd times, whether it's between a break in a shift or after walking Hemingway, and once or twice a week they'll be up half the night on the phone. Ashlee always passes him with knowing grins, and somehow word catches Mikey, who automatically assumes it's time to break out scare tactics on the young guy.

"I mean, if you're serious about him, I don't see why not." He tells him as they sit on the back deck, Bronx and Bandit playing in the leaves with Hemmy. "You gonna bring him to the wedding?"

"We're not that serious," He insists, even though he's single-handedly texting Brendon while looking at Mikey and trying to keep his face neutral. "We're not serious at all. You know, unlike how you and Ashlee seem to think, to the rest of the world I am married with a child, just sayin', and cozying up to me and assuming we're in a relationship isn't really a thing that most sane people would try acting on."

Mikey snorts, "If you don't want me to meet him, that's fine, but at least say it."

"I do want you to!" Pete says a little too quickly, and Mikey raises a brow. "Don't. Just don't say anything."

Mikey holds up his hands in surrender, and Pete blames him for the reason that they're both at the nearest supermart with a cart full of meat, chips, beer, and soda. A last-minute final cookout before fall finally kicks in sounds like a good enough idea to get Brendon over, along with his friends if he wants to bring any, and Mikey insists that they invite the band over (Pete immediately declines the idea) or at least Joe and Andy (to which Pete is more partial, but it seems rude not to invite Patrick, and he was supposed to apologize at some point, so maybe it wasn't too horrible an idea), as well as the former MyChem and Alicia. He said something about Gerard coming, if only to pick up Bandit, but Pete didn't really care who came, as long as it didn't end up being Tweedledee (Ashlee) and Tweedledum (Mikey) against he and Brendon. God, he could already feel them looking as they stood out back, looking as the leaves fell and the sun started going down.

They don't linger too much, they don't really have much time before people start getting there, and Ashlee and her sister just barely beat them, going to start on salads because he knows he's got just as many non-meat eaters as meat eaters coming over. He makes Mikey put on the Kiss The Cook apron before he kicks him back on the deck because he knows he's better at watching than he is grilling, and because he should definitely be the one greeting guests if it is his house. Mikey rolls his eyes at the logic, but doesn't protest, because even he knows no one wants one of Pete's perfectly burnt burgers.

Joe is actually the first to arrive, Marie on one arm and cradling beer with the other. Andy is behind them, jacket pulled tight in the cool wind. "Gonna have fun trashing your place, Wentz."

Pete doesn't get a chance to respond, hearing another car door slam and looking away from his former bandmate to see Brendon, along with two unfamiliar faces coming up the drive. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe he should've briefed him on proper celebrity meeting techniques, but even he himself wasn't too great at controlling himself around people he considered idols. "Bren!"

The raven haired beauty turns away laughing at something that his friend has said, giving a small smile and a wave towards him. "Hey, Pete!"

The distance closes rather quickly after that, and he and Brendon hug briefly before he introduces his two friends, Spencer Smith, who'd heard plenty of stories about throughout the month, and Jon Walker, who as far as Pete knew, was a guy they'd both met in freshman year of college, Jon being Spencer's roommate until all three of them moved off campus. "Unfortunately, as you know, we're kind of nobodies, so don't be surprised if we happen to blend in with the rest of your house."

"Shut up," Pete laughs, and something in him pains to lean in and kiss off that goofy smile, if only to put it on even brighter. "You'll probably stand out around all these old bones, if anything. Come on in, don't catch a cold. Make yourselves at home."

He let Jessica play around with the music playlist, so he doesn't really recognize whatever song is playing as he introduces Brendon and company to The Gang, but he doesn't think it really matters as Joe, always the people person, welcomes the younger boys and tells them to totally grab something to sell on EBay before they go. He's really glad he and Joe were still cool after all of the years, because if ever weren't around to break the ice, Pete'd be stepping on it tenderly all night.

The MyChem guys show up later, along with Alicia, who buddies up with Marie, Ash, and Jess in the kitchen with the kids, Pete gathering everyone else in the living room as Mikey finished up with the food, bringing it all inside for everyone to pick and choose from.

("He's pretty." Mikey whispers as Brendon talks with Ashlee, a blush growing on both of their faces and Pete nudges his so-called best friend away. He really needed to get a new one.

"Trohman, you are totally replacing Mikey as my new best friend, okay?" 

"Does this mean I have to listen to you at 4 in the morning again?"

"Probably."

"I'll pass."

Mikey sling his arm around Pete's shoulder. "You're stuck with me, dude."

"Anyone want this horrible best friend? He's 100% free with no returns!")

He takes a liking to Spencer and Frank, respectively. Everyone's taking sides on music interests, ranking bands in terms of "suck ass" and "fucking incredible", and it's something he and they agree on often, branching off into their on side conversations when the main one gets too wild. Years of being a self-proclaimed house dad hadn't done him much good socially, but he feels more like his old, pre-baby, pre-marriage self, and it's pretty adolescent to feel so giddy every time he and Brendon brush limbs, but he just doesn't care. It's better than letting himself be hung up on some who's obviously moved on and didn't care about him, and maybe he and Brendon wouldn't have much of a future together, but he could entertain the idea in his head.

They're still arguing about 80s rock over pop, voices getting raised higher and higher when the doorbell rings, and Pete has to pull himself away from the conversation to get to the door before Ashlee can, because if she gets it she'll make a big deal of it later, and he's not really in the mood to--

"Hi." He blinks, as if Patrick would go away if he did so. "Uh, Mikey said there was a gathering here?"

"You can just call it a party, 'Trick," He says and the familiar nickname has already rolled off his tongue before he can stop himself, blaming it on being so caught up in the old familiar spirits of his friend he hadn't really got to be around since it was _okay_ to call him Trick. "I meant--"

Patrick holds up his hand, giving a small smile. "No worries. We can be adults, right?"

"Right." Pete nods. "A clean slate, huh?"

The strawberry blonde grins, holding out a hand jokingly. "Patrick Stump, I'm in that one rock band, Fall Out Boy, you may have heard of it?"

"Patrick, what a mouthful." Pete pretends to sneer, "I'll just call you Tricky. I had a horse named Tricky once. You don't think I could ride you like--"

Someone clears their throat, and it's only then Pete looks past Patrick to notice Ryan. He can feel a sharp remark form on his lips, but he decides against it. If Patrick was going to give him a clean slate for whatever reason after nearly a decade, then he didn't want to mess it up. "Uh, come on in, there's food and stuff in the kitchen, and we're ripping apart musicians in the living room. No genre or platinum record holder is safe."

Patrick gives a smile, a real smile, and tugs Ryan into the house.

Pete wishes his heart were racing because of him catching Brendon looking their way.

"Fuck," He curses himself under his breath, shuffling back to the group. "I am so fucking fucked."


	3. men ain't supposed to cry (or lie or cheat) so why do i?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete manages to live up to his status of King Fuck-Up. Mikey deals out punishment like candy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: this chapter contains characters doing things under the influence of alcohol and a bit of what some may consider verbal abuse. if either of those bother you, then skip to the end notes for a basic run down of the chapter.
> 
> also, happy almost turkey day to those americans celebrating. decided to update early (because i'm unsure if i'd get a chance to before sunday) and possibly update this again on the actual weekend (because i'm nice). please enjoy your days off with a nice sprinkle of angsty fiction about nonfictional boys.
> 
> i feel like it should be noted that i kind of jumped ahead with this section of the work, because i hadn't really planned or intended for Patrick to do anything that he did for like, another two chapters, as well as Mikey's whole punishment deal. but seeing as Trick hardly got much screentime before, he'll have an abundance for the rest of this arc.
> 
> i'm thinking of six-eight chapters in this, so we're already half way through. but ye, enjoy! comments are wonderful and make me want to write even more.

**TO: trick**

u or ryan lft ur hat at my place just letting u kno

**TO: Pete W**

Oh, I was wondering about that hat. Do you think you can mail it over?

**TO: trick**

for one i dnt have ur address. two it seems kind of silly to mail it if were not that far from each other. i can swing by your place after i get bronx from ash

**TO: Pete W**

Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. 

**TO: Pete W**

This is really weird for me.

**TO: trick**

y?

**TO: Pete W**

I think you can remember the last time we tried this "friends" thing.

**TO: trick**

i thought we were starting clean

**TO: Pete W**

We are. It's just...well, think about it. This is kind of weird.

**TO: trick**

i dnt think its weird unless you make it weird

**TO: Pete W**

Pete, I think it's kind of weird if I can perfectly remember punching you in the face at the hospital. And the events that happened afterwards. Even the ones before then.

**TO: trick**

ok so maybe its a little weird

**TO: Pete W**

I don't think this is going to work.

**TO: trick**

me n mikey work. fairly well if i say

**TO: Patrick**

You and Mikey are entirely different from you and me and you know that.

**TO: trick**

u honestly think we can hang around the same group of ppl and just ignore each other u realize how well that went b4 right

**TO: Pete W**

There's a difference between being friendly and being friends.

**TO: trick** TO: Pete W

We bring out the worst in each other, Pete. You drive me insane and I haven't even had to speak or look at you in ages. I can't focus on my own relationship or the band what with you coming out of the blue and stirring up something that didn't need to be messed with. Hell, Ashlee and Mikey's given me enough crap about what I do to you. All we do is clash and argue and we have our nice moments, and I won't lie and say I don't miss you calling at the oddest of hours to feed me lyrics, but even if we've both seem to have changed, we're still the same we've always been.

**TO: trick**

is that how u really feel

**TO: Pete W**

I don't know.

**TO: trick**

when you stop listening to everyone else and figure out how you actually feel yourself, let me know. you might get your hat back.

**\---**

Pete kisses Brendon mid-October, in the media room with Bronx two rows down, The Little Mermaid playing as background noise.

Brendon seems more enthusiastic about it when Pete tells him he and Ashlee are in an open marriage, and spends the rest of the afternoon under his arm, exchanging small kisses whenever he feels like it.

Pete feels guilty he's not as into it as he thought he'd be.

**\---**

Somewhere in between the time the leaves start falling to the time he gets an invitation to Frank's birthday slash halloween party, Pete realizes that he's overstayed his time in California.

Bronx is getting too comfortable with his new tutor, and it's strange not to hear him rambling about the antics of his pre-kindergarten class. Ashlee's friends and family are coming over more often, and it's weird coming home to people and not the darkness and solitude of the other house, excluding the time when his own mother liked to "vacation" there. It's starting to smell less like a hotel and more like Hemmy, home cooking, and varying perfumes amongst other things. Even Brendon finds way over more often than not, a few times even spending the night. Everything is starting to be routine again, and Pete can't even honestly tell if he's okay with it.

He and Patrick aren't really on speaking terms, not outside of greetings and goodbyes when Mikey drags him to the studio for recordings and practices at whomever's house. Pete doesn't even really want to go, but he won't decline and let Patrick think he's won whatever they have going on. Every now and again he'll slap on Patrick's hat and wear it, as if he needed a reminder of their conversation.

He knows he's being childish, but he's justified, or at least that's what he convinces himself, Ashlee, and Mikey. 

Ashlee decided to pass up the party to go Trick or Treating with Bronx, and Pete feels a little guilty for ditching them on one of his favorite holidays even though Bronx tells him he'll get extra candy for him if he goes and "stop looking so mopey", giving Brendon her blessing to go in her place (to which Pete both thanks and hates her for) and they decide against matching costumes to keep all questions limited. They still sort of match, though, Pete wearing a zip up hoodie and jeans and inserting fake fangs while Brendon goes full-on classic vampire. Frank greets them both warmly in his regular clothing, the odd one out at his own party.

"I didn't even want to do anything," Frank tells them over the music. "But Mikey and Gee insisted, so here we are."

Mikey, who seems to be arguing with the DJ about something, and Gerard, who's talking to someone but staring at Frank. "Better see what that's all about." Pete gestures to his friend, and drags Brendon along as Frank greets the next guest.

Mikey looks like he's about to punch the guy, who smells like fish and is packing up his equipment. Using context clues, he can see why Mikey's so upset. "-piece of fucking shit, you said the entire night!"

The guy shrugs. "You paid up until now. Cough up some more bills and I'll consider staying a few more hours."

"I already--"

"Hey." Pete grabs Mikey's shoulder, pulling him into a squeeze. "Why don't I just DJ this thing? No charge."

Mikey raises a brow. "Do you have the equipment?"

"Frank's got a laptop and speakers. I've done more with less." Pete offers, and the guy looks like he's willing to take back his demands.

They call Frank over and get his to grab his laptop, and within five minutes, Pete has taken charge of the music, while Mikey takes care of kicking out the old DJ. No one really seems to notice the change, however, just aware that there's music for them to dance. It's only after he's queued up enough songs to last awhile that he remembers his guest (friend? boyfriend?) standing awkwardly behind him, watching the party unfold.

"You're free to mingle, y'know," He says over the music. "Don't let me stop you from having a good time, I know we didn't plan on this, but find Mikey or Joe or somebody and enjoy yourself. No need to just hide in the shadows all night."

Brendon raises a brow. "You do realize without you I look like someone who just crashed the party, right?"

"It's Frank's party." Pete snorts, like that's all that needed to be said. "Just, y'know, avoid Patrick and Ryan and things should be okay."

He's glad Brendon doesn't ask why, and feels the weight fly off his shoulders when he departs into the crowd with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek. Brendon's good at blending in when he wants to, but Pete likes to think he's even better than Joe on the conversational side of things. It's kind of scary how much he wants to open up to the kid, only after about two months, but he just has this Thing about him that he can't place. He's just so dorky and caring, and Pete wants to give him the world even though he never asked for it but because he deserves it. The way he presents himself and lights up a room, he's all but famous already. If he really wanted to, he could pull some strings, make a few phone calls, have some people do some favors--he'd be some teen girl's wet dream by the next week.

But he knows that he wouldn't wish that lifestyle on anyone who didn't want it, and as far as he knows, the kid's content with what he has now. 

Pete watches the room, though, watching everything unfold. Most of his friends are drunk and/or smoking something, and the small percentage that isn't is off enjoying themselves across the room, talking philosophies and dancing every now and then. He himself grabs drinks from whoever happens to pass by every thirty minutes or so. Not many people comes up to request songs, so he thinks he's doing a pretty decent job of working tunes and drinking booze. He starts to get tired, though, and for the first time in a long time he starts nodding off without the help of drugs.

"Pete." He nearly launches himself out of the chair, blinking himself awake to see the last person he'd expect to catch him slipping. Patrick's face has concern dripping off of it, but mostly he just looks like he's been drinking. "I need to talk to you."

"Uh, I'm kinda busy." Pete gestures to the laptop. "But maybe, tomorrow we can meet for--"

He's cut off by being nearly pulled across the table. "Now, Pete."

Somehow, he finds his way into Frank's empty back deck, the glass door shut behind them, no one seeming to notice how he's probably being dragged to his grave. Fuck, he did not want to die on Halloween. Sure, maybe he could be a ghost and scare the shit out of kids every year, but he kind of already hated himself. Spending eternity with his own thoughts and no communication with others just seemed like overkill. 

Patrick pushes him against the wall and God, they are way too close for Pete's comfort, he can practically feel his heart beating out of his chest, not to mention how the moonlight just seems to shine down on him perfectly, making his eyes twinkle just like they used to when he wasn't on a seemingly bloodlust rampage. He always did have the prettiest eyes, now that Pete thinks about it, Patrick's hand sliding up his chest and around his neck. At least he'll die not quite as horribly as he expected he would. Ryan's probably right around the corner, ready to hit him over the head and help Patrick drag his body into a shallow grave. Maybe if he mentally prepares himself it won't hurt as bad.

Just when he thinks Patrick's about to choke him, he does something completely different.

He kisses him. Hard.

For a moment, he's just in shock. Disbelief, actually. If Ryan really is right around the corner, ready to hit him over the head, then he should probably jump out now and stop this. But then it hits him that he really doesn't want this to stop, and then he just wants to hit himself.

He's kissing his ex-best friend. Ex-boyfriend. Ex-friend. Ex-everything.

Patrick actually pulls away before he gains enough control of his body to push, but he does belatedly punches him in the face. "Shit, I didn't-"

"Yeah, you did." Patrick laughs humorlessly. "See, this is what I'm telling you. We're not good for each other. We just--"

"Stop, fucking stop." Pete covers his face, "The only thing you're doing is driving yourself insane, goddammit."

"Am I really, Pete?" He looks at him, previously twinkling eyes hard. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Yes, you fucking idiot!" This time he's the one who grabs him by the shirt, pulling them close, the smell of alcohol radiating off of the both of them. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you actually wanted to stop. That you didn't feel anything."

Patrick's eyes widen, not meeting his at all. "Mikey..."

And when Pete turns to see what that's all about, he just barely misses a punch not even aimed for him. 

Mikey is fucking furious.

"I fucking told you to stay away from him, _goddamn it_ , Patrick!" Pete is shoved back, gripping to the railing to catch himself from falling down the stairs he hadn't even noticed before, trying to prevent himself from going into a panic as he watches Mikey slams Patrick against the wall he was previously against, wondering what the fuck is even going on. "God, I'd say this was my fault for even bringing him around you when I knew he wasn't ready, but I warned you! We talked about this and you fully knew what you do to him, you fucking--"

Everything after that happens too quickly.

Patrick shoves Mikey off him, first off, and then lands a blow that shouldn't do much but back him up slightly more, but instead Mikey flies back, gripping the air and before Pete can reach out, Mikey is _tumbling_ down the stairs and he _really_ hopes that cracking noise is the wood and not his best friend.

He doesn't even feel himself shaking, eyes flickering from Patrick, standing behind him staring at the stairs in disbelief, and down into the void of the staircase, where Mikey is probably unconscious and/or in a shitload of pain.

And then he fucking bolts.

Brendon is the last thing on his mind, all he can do is let his legs carry him through the crowd, pushing through the people in his way, hearing someone call his name but not turning back, just finding his car driving off in what he hopes is the direction of his home. He drives in circles for about an hour before he actually arrives at his house, and he can't even see clearly with the way his eyes are flooded with tears and his body is shaking, his breath shallow and god, he is so fucking fucked.

"We gotta--we gotta get out of here." Pete manages to get out when Ashlee comes to pry him out of the car. "We gotta get back to Chicago, Ash, we can't stay here--"

He doesn't remember much else after that. But when he comes to, several hours later in a white room, he knows he probably doesn't want to.

**\---**

The last time Patrick stepped foot in a hospital was the week Pete had attempted suicide.

He remembers the day perfectly: they (being the band) were having an argument about the set list, and whenever he lets himself think about it he remembers how dumb of a thing it was to get so heated about, but they'd been on the bus for too long and they'd known every way to dig under another's skin and they were abusing it to get their points across, it was so, so dumb. Mikey's phone had went off, and he'd been so angry at the time he'd just yelled into it and then his face had changed so quickly after that.

Everyone had went silent.

"Yeah, no, calm down, Ash. He's going to be fine. If he's breathing, he'll be fine, okay? I'm gonna get there as soon as I can. Do you want to tell his mom or do I need to? No, come on, Ash, don't start. You gotta be strong for the both of you right now. I mean, I guess all three of you. Uh, we're in--" He stopped his worried pacing briefly, looking at the paper taped on the door. "--Arizona. I'm gonna get the bus driver to let me off at the place nearest the airport, you just hang tight, alright? Love you. Just stay with him, ok?"

He'd hung up and just crashed on the sofa. He was paler than he usually was, holding his face in his hands, trying to get himself together. "So. Pete tried to off himself."

"What?" Joe had stolen the word right out of Patrick's mouth. "That doesn't make any sense, why would he do that when he's got a kid on the way? You said he was happier than ever two weeks ago!"

Mikey doesn't even look up. "He...he actually called me yesterday. This morning. I knew he was out of it, but I thought he was tired. He was scared, man. Terrified that it would happen again and Ash would hate him or something, I don't really remember. I just told him to chill out and--fuck. I'm a fucking idiot."

"What did you say?" He remembers asking, the way his voice tried to crack halfway through.

"S'not important anymore. I just gotta go." Mikey stood up, taking in a deep breath. "The bass tech can fill in for me, right?"

"No, we'll just cancel the shows." Patrick said, "We'll all go. Pete's our friend too."

Mikey looked like he was going to laugh in Patrick's face, but Andy beat him to it. "Uh, no offense, but none of us have even tried talking to Pete in ages, man. Especially not you, after the whole..."

He lets the words linger. He doesn't need to say it. They all knew what he was talking about.

"Well, then I'll go. Be a united front for the band, or something." Patrick stands up, like that seals the deal. "I don't think you should travel alone when you're like this."

Mikey starts to protest, but Joe shakes his head. "He's kinda right, though. And some good press wouldn't exactly hurt us right now."

"Ok, whatever." Mikey sighs, "But don't think of this as a window of opportunity for you. You're coming for me, not him."

"Yeah, I know." Patrick nods, and some odd hours later and he's sitting in an identical waiting room to the one he's sitting in now, nervous and jittery as ever.

Mikey had given him a long talk about what had been happening with Pete, not that Patrick had asked, but because it was written on his face that he wanted to know. He never really imagined not having Pete in his life, not in his wildest dreams, but when Pete had said Ashlee was pregnant, with his kid no less, he couldn't even look at him, couldn't think about him without wanting to put hands on him to hurt him. He'd thought about talking to someone about it, but he just buried himself in music instead. It was healthier and free, he'd convinced himself, and it paid bills.

Pete had always tried to get through to him though, and the first few times he wasn't ready to forgive him; a part of him was still trapped in the teenage heartbreak and all he'd allow himself to do what give short, snarky answers and yell about the past, allowing himself to ignore all the changes Pete was making, how different he seemed. The fact that he could've just died, and the last thing he'd said to him was something about how horrible of a person he was, it was too much of a weight on his shoulders. He was going to have to make things right, somehow.

"I don't want you doing anything stupid, so here's the thing: you can't lead him on. In fact, you need to make him hate you." Mikey told him as they waited to go back, "That is, if he even wants to see you. God, who am I kidding, of course he'll want to."

Patrick was confused. "What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about how Pete turns into a pile of idiot just at the mention of you even though you have done a pretty good job at ignoring him the past couple of years." Mikey takes off his glasses to clean them, for lack of anything better to do with his hands. "See, Patrick, Pete's been doing a hell of a lot better these last few months, what with his books sales and his blog. He's been happier with Ashlee, too, and the fact she's pregnant tells you their relationship isn't strained like it was. I know you can see what kind of state he's in now, he's got a kid coming around and he's fucking freaked out since the last time they tried they came out of it with nothing, and I know if and when he sees you he's going to change into an entirely different person, and maybe that's good and maybe that's bad. But then when you decide to be all nice and shit to him, and then pretend he doesn't exist the second you walk out of here, he's going to go back to how he was years ago, and that's where my problem is. Pete's like another brother to me, and while you are my bandmate and a close friend of mine, I have to draw a line here. You can't just pick and choose with him, man, you either give him your all or you give him nothing. I'm not letting him sulk over you for the rest of his life while you're out living part of the life he could've had. Understand?"

All Patrick gets a chance to do nod before Mikey gets called back, letting his words sink in. It's not like he would've been able to say anything, not with how closed his side of the argument was. He kind of always knew he had some hold over Pete, probably from the day they met. While he had to grow an acquired taste for him, Pete was smitten at first sight. He would go along with anything Patrick wanted, did anything to keep Patrick happy, and when they did clash, he was the one who usually gave in, though Patrick would try to compromise before it came to that. He couldn't help how Pete felt for him, hell, if he could, he would've made him hate him ages ago. Maybe Mikey was right. He wasn't any good for--

"He said he wants to see you." Mikey clears his throat, and when he steps into that tiny, white room and sees how small and pale and utterly helpless Pete looks, he forgets everything he'd heard in the last half hour. All he wants to do is turn back time so he never even let Pete out of his sight, never ignored his calls or blocked his number. He could have prevented this. He could have stopped this. 

Pete gives him a weak smile. "Didn't expect to see you."

He takes in a deep breath, standing at the foot of the bed. He can almost feel Mikey staring him down through the glass window, and even though he knows he won't hear a word, he's scared. "Didn't really expect to come see you."

There is a silence. They study each other like textbooks, never meeting each others eyes, barely any noise in the room but their quiet breathing and the very low hum of the machines pumping meds through his IVs. 

"Why are you here, Patrick?" Pete asks, and Patrick has to look at him for a long time before he can find words. 

"I don't know."

**\---**

Mikey's right arm is broken.

He's also got injuries involving his right knee and his ribcage, but he's not dead. He's still pissed as all get out, but he's not dead.

And a pissed off, broken but not dead Mikey is good enough for Pete.

Pete, who'd been admitted for having a panic attack and discharged officially two days ago, is now pacing outside of Mikey's room while Alicia gets the full doctor's report. He'd been busy convincing Brendon he was fine earlier, even though he was declining to meet him. He really needed to be here for Mikey, seeing as he was the reason that he was in the hospital, and he knew that Mikey would chew him out even worse if he didn't. He hasn't really allowed himself to think of anything but Mikey's well-being and basic functioning, because if he tries to think about that night he'd only start thinking about how nice--

"Pete," Alicia clears her throat as she steps out of the room, wiping her eye with her knuckle. "Mikey said he'll see you now."

He swallows and gives a weak smile before entering, the door closing too loudly behind him.

"You know, when you said you were going to murder me, I didn't think you were serious."

Pete tries not to crack too big a grin, "Well, I am a man of my word."

"Most of the time." Mikey corrects, "But I'm not in the hospital because of you. Not directly, of course."

"Can we kind of avoid talking about that?" He scratches at the back of his neck, taking the seat beside his bed. "I'm still beating myself up about all this, y'know. I just, I don't know if it was something in the drinks--"

"It was you being _stupid_ ," Mikey cuts him off bitterly, "Dude, we both know even if you weren't drunk you would've followed him out there. You would do anything he fucking told you to do because you're still chasing after him even though he doesn't give a rat's ass about you and he just manipulates that--"

"Don't." Pete holds his face. "Don't patronize me. He can't make me do anything I don't want to anymore than you can because we both know I'm stubborn as hell. I went out there on my own accord, kissed him back in my own stroke of stupid genius, and fuck, I still want him even though he knocked you out. I didn't even know he was that strong, fucking Christ, he must've really--"

"Pete!" Mikey all but yells. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

Mikey sighs, pushing his hair out of his face. "If you obviously cannot see how he fucking changes you into this...god, I don't even think there's words in the English dictionary to describe how stupid in love you get, but he is definitely no good for you."

"That's my decision." Pete scoffs. "You can't baby me like Gerard, I don't need you to protect me. If I want to date Patrick, then I fucking will. I don't need your consent for that."

"Good." Mikey smiles, and it's then when Pete feels all his confidence run dry. "Because if my arm isn't healed in two weeks, which I'm plenty sure it won't be, then you're going to spend the next three months on tour with your precious Patrick and his boyfriend, and I hope for both of your sakes that he's as oblivious as the rest of the damn world is, because I'll give it a week before one of you fuck up and he finds out and he makes your lives a living hell."

Pete feels his blood still, "What the fuck are you talking about? I have practices, I have games--""

"You're going to replace me in Fall Out Boy, jackass. Better go home and study up, get some last fucks in with your old boy thing before you leave him, and get ready." Mikey grabs the room, attention now turned to the television. "Hope he was worth it. You're gonna get the life you've always wanted, with a twist of being my bitch until you leave, and don't think you can get out of it, because I already talked to Ash and the guys, and they're all with me on this one. En-fucking-joy."

Of course, because life hates him, the door opens to reveal not Alicia, but fucking Patrick in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Pete has never hated his face more. "Sorry, I'll just come back later."

"Oh, no, come on in and let's pick up where we left off. Do you two want to fuck on the edge of my bed so I can--"

"Mikey, fucking quit it, that's not--"

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for being a dick--"

"--and then break my left arm so I'll be _completely_ immobile--"

"--god, you just don't know when to stop, I know you're hurt and all but fuck--"

"--then tell Ryan myself, but I wasn't planning on what happened to happened, I was drunk, I didn't really _mean_ to kiss--"

"--so you two can live your fucking insane happily ever after of beating each other down and building each other up--"

"--I was just joking, I'm not actually planning to give up with Bren, I couldn't do that to him--"

"Okay!" Patrick yells, and the room goes silent. Mikey is glaring in Patrick's general direction and Pete is looking at his shoes. "Seeing as you had to be childish and punish us for something neither of us were under the right mindset to be blamed for, I say it's about time we all calm down and grow up. We're all men here, we can settle this like adults."

"There's nothing to settle." Mikey all but laughs, "You two are getting what you deserve, end of discussion. You may kiss your never ending mistake."

"I don't need to take this from you." Pete huffs, standing up. "I may or may not come by tomorrow. Me and Ash are still planning Bronx's birthday party."

"Whatever." Mikey refocuses on the television. "Bring me a huge bag of some real food next time."

"I'll consider it." Pete crosses in front of Patrick. "And we will talk about what happened, you know."

"Yeah," He just barely hears on his way out, "I know."

**\---**

He swings by Brendon's branch of Starbucks to get his regular, but since the world does in fact hate him, he walks in to see Ryan.

And Brendon is talking to him. 

And Brendon barely acknowledges him outside of a kiss on the cheek, and saying Ashlee said he could swing by for dinner later. 

And Pete deserves this, he knows he does and he knew it was coming, but it still hurts like a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically: 
> 
> > pete kisses brendon and they start "going out"  
> > pete takes brendon to frank's birthday/halloween party  
> > pete gets drunk, gets dragged off by patrick   
> > patrick kisses pete, pete punches patrick  
> > patrick says some semi-mean things, mikey sees the two of them and gets overprotective of Pete  
> > mikey and patrick fight; mikey falls down the stairs  
> > ~insert perfectly timed flashback of part one of the Hospital Incident~  
> > mikey and pete and patrick all argue about who is in the wrong  
> > mikey sentences pete and patrick to three months of touring together (with ryan, still unknowing)
> 
> and that's about it, folks.


	4. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick get help from a third party. Shit starts to hit the fan for Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone is stuffed and all shopping matters are sated. i was lucky enough to get 9 shiny new records yesterday (one of them being pax am days after a hunt for it, hell yes) and a few electronic related things before remembering i need clothes too, lol. i also managed to come down with an awful cold, so you win some, lose some.
> 
> for those of you who lost this weekend, i hope this makes it a win/lose situation for you as well. i did decide that six chapters would be enough to complete this segment of the first arc, and that after i post the last chapter i'll probably take a short break and pick up on either christmas eve or the day after christmas, all depending on my location. i hope you all are still enjoying this, and with every alert of kudos and comments in my email inbox, a smile grows wider on my face.
> 
> (additional note: three of the four little writings by pete in this chapter are written by me, i'm sure you all will be able to tell which ones. sorry for them being kind of crappy, but i wouldn't have used them if they weren't telling something. just sayin'.)

"So, I used to date Patrick."

Brendon drops the coffee he had been making, apologizing to the disgruntled other employee behind the counter. He gives Pete a look as he goes to get a mop, the offender following behind him.

"What?" He hisses, not facing him as he actually does look for the mop. Pete was kind of hoping for more attention, but he can deal.

"Yeah, it was kind of a long time ago. Back when we starting the band and he still had sideburns and wore argyle. I thought he was his own grandfather, y'know?" 

"Why are you telling me this?" Brendon sighs, turning as Pete blocks his path. "This isn't really the time or place for confessions, you know."

Pete knows what he should say. The words are right on his tongue, he'd practiced this in the mirror for almost a week now, but instead he just says, "You're right. Dinner tonight?"

"Can't," Brendon closes the storage room door. "Band stuff. I'll call you?"

"'kay." Pete lets him kiss his cheek as his own phone goes off, reminding him of his other plans for the day. "I'll be waiting."

"Mhmm." 

He never stops feeling like Brendon knows more than what he lets on, but when he sees Patrick's car sitting outside the small coffee joint, he allows himself to forget, if only for a moment.

\---

"I'm a little confused here, you two are not married? Or dating?"

"No," Patrick says quickly, as if the idea was completely improbable. At this rate, it probably was. "We were dating previously, but mutually separated as something had...come up."

Pete rolls his eyes, "You know, if you're going to bring us to a shrink, the best thing to do would be not lie, dumbass." He turns his attention to the woman sitting across from them. "We separated because he couldn't handle the fact I was going to be the father of a kid that wasn't his. Before we had actually split, we had a disagreement about what, song lyrics?"

"'Where is your man tonight'," Patrick supplied.

"Yeah, lyrics. I had been invited out by a mutual friend that night, and I had enough alcohol in my system to think it was a good idea to sleep with one of my old girlfriends, who is now my wife, and she ended up getting pregnant." Pete concluded.

"So you're married--to a woman?" The therapist clarifies. 

"Correct." Pete nods. Then, as an afterthought, adds: "And also, dating a male. They are both aware of each other."

She closes her eyes for a moment before turning to Patrick. "And you are..."

"Long-term dating. A male." 

The woman, Dr. Noella Reynolds, is African-American, black hair pulled back into a curly, fluffy ponytail, dark eyes magnified by the black frames of her glasses. She looks confused as she writes on her notepad, possibly more confused than Pete did when Patrick had even told him about his idea, but he hadn't turned him down. If they really were going to have to spend the next three months together, they needed to talk about a lot of things, and having a non-biased mediator would do them better than not having one at all. He and Patrick had tried that already, and all that left them with was bruised lips and sore throats.

"I'm sorry, I just--why are you two here?"

Patrick looks at Pete, who just shrugs. "I think that we both would like to...improve our relationship. Maybe somewhere in the future try to get back to what we used to have."

Pete is more blunt about his answer. "I want us to try dating again."

Dr. Reynolds blinks. "Is that what you meant, Patrick?"

"I don't know." He answers hesitantly. "I don't know if he could handle that. If I could handle that."

"Why wouldn't Pete be able to handle a relationship with you?"

Patrick runs a hand through his hair. It is only then that Pete notices he isn't wearing a hat, hasn't been wearing a hat. "I can get kind of mean, I guess. Pete...he's in love with the old me. We haven't been exposed to each other properly in almost a decade, and we've both changed. I'm not sure if he can--Well, I guess I don't think that I can let go of the past."

Pete raises his brows but doesn't interrupt, "Why can't you let go of the past?"

"Because in the past, it was just us." He says automatically. "It was me and Pete, against everyone else in the fucking world. I gave up a lot for him. I wasn't comfortable with singing in front of people, but he just pushed me until I just forgot about the faces in the crowd and focused on him, always to my left, always in my peripheral vision. I didn't like being in the spotlight, but he was practically born for it, so I just got used to it. I just kind of gave up pieces of me to make room for him, and then he--" Patrick cuts himself off, suddenly silent.

"And then I what?" Pete can hardly recognize his own voice.

Patrick stares at the wall behind Pete. "You betrayed me."

"You know that I had to go." He almost whispers. "I couldn't do that to her and the baby."

"Yeah, I know." Patrick says icily. "But that doesn't mean it hurt any less."

The room is suddenly uncomfortable. Pete is the one who speaks up, several moments later, asking to come back the next day.

\---

Ashlee stares at him all through dinner, which is mostly just Bronx making a lot of noise as he swallows down food, asking a few questions that go unanswered, and Pete pushing his food around on his plate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks, clearing the table as Bronx hops out of his seat, scurrying off to find Hemmy. 

"Not really." He sighs. "Not at all."

The blonde bites her lip, watching him as he gets up from the table, walking off towards the stairs.

"Love you," She says quietly, to no one.

\---

Patrick picks up Pete two blocks away from his house, sitting on the curb with a stack of colorful notebooks on his lap, tapping away at his phone. When he sees him coming, though, he gives a small smile, sliding his phone away as he stands, holding the books like treasure. In Pete's mind, they probably were.

"What are those?" He asks, halfway to their destination.

Pete just stares out of the window blankly, "Words."

Patrick doesn't ask anything else, and Pete doesn't fill the silence like he usually does.

More often now than ever, he misses Pete's constant touching, the way he used to make his presence known to everyone in a quiet room. He misses his too big smile, the one that he always tried to tone down in public but would do full blown whenever Patrick let a compliment slip out, the braying laugh he's too characterized by. He misses the restless, middle of the night calls that had him whispering even though he knew no one in his house could hear him, the way he always had an idea of what Pete would do and say in certain situations, the way they just fit together and completely disappeared when they felt like it.

He thinks about it when he's working with Ryan on lyrics, or when Joe and Andy are goofing off at practice, Mikey leaving them lacking a certain _something_ that just bugged Patrick to no end. He thinks about it when he calls his mom and tells her about his week, and when he's being interviewed by some teeny magazine. He thinks about it when Ryan kisses him out of the blue, or when he lays down alone on those nights Ryan is out, working or writing or doing something without him, and he knows it's wrong to miss things he hadn't had in years when he had someone right in front of him, but it doesn't bother him like it used to.

When they get to Dr. Reynolds' office Pete asks to go in by himself first, and then Patrick can join them. He spends the few minutes alone texting Ryan a lie about being with the guys and the guys a lie about being with Ryan, and it's a careless thing to do when everyone's already tense about Mikey's accident (no one knows he pushed him that night, everyone thinks something got slipped in his drink and he just stumbled) and the tour that he knows he's not even remotely ready for, but he allows himself to it because if everything comes crashing down, he'd rather it not be a half-assed event.

"Pete wants to share something with you, Patrick." Dr. Reynolds says warmly, almost proud. It's only their second visit and he already feels wary about where this could lead, how this could all end. "Are you willing to hear it?"

"Yes." 

Pete takes the first notebook off the top of the stack, a sloppy "2002" written on the cover folded back as he flips through the pages, stopping at a folded one and looking at Patrick with a weak smile.

And then he reads.

(sometimes I like to kid myself  
"maybe if i just pretend its not happening ill wake up"  
"this is all a dream and you can laugh it off tomorrow"  
i'll wear your old shirts i stole over the years  
and walk through this unfamiliar house  
looking for you even though you have no idea where i am  
the house where your name isn't spoken  
out of kindness i didnt think i possessed anymore  
the house where she is a ruler  
and i'm a prince with no empire  
the house where i exist  
and you dont  
it doesnt feel right  
but things arent the same anymore  
i cant pick up the phone and call you  
i cant roll over and watch you sleep like an angel with sideburns for wings  
i cant look forward to days and nights with you  
and its a very strange way to express it  
but i know this isnt how things are supposed to be  
and somehow i know im supposed to love you  
but i cant get the words off this page and i cant show them to you  
why am i writing this ill ask myself later  
looking out into the night knowing we're staring under the same stars miles apart  
its not like it matters  
its not like anything matters anymore)

(if i ever have a proper child  
one thats born out of love and not a mistake  
i want it to happy  
healthy  
and a hell of a lot better than me  
but that wont happen i dont think  
not when i cant even get girls look at me without pity  
or lust  
or guilt  
please direct your eyes until you can hide the lies better  
at least until i stop seeing mine reflected back into them)

(i cant sleep.  
not when i cant look in on you.  
not when i cant feel you on my chest.  
not even with hurricane of excitement here.  
i cant be me.  
i dont remember how.  
i wouldnt want that memory even if i could,  
if i had to do it on my own.  
id pass.  
skip me.  
go on to someone who matters.  
put me on a plane or press fastforward.  
but tape the good parts.  
i dont want to miss them.)

(i think i might be drowning.  
we were escorted by a sea of red and blue  
knowing the damage was done even before we arrived  
couldnt have done a better job if i say so myself  
shes a great actress. should be on the big screen  
yet somehow i find myself on the rooftop  
swallowing my own tears i didnt know i was holding back  
shivering in the night with the moon singing to me  
i dont regret what happened but  
i cant stop thinking about what if it hadnt  
i miss them  
straight to voicemail  
i miss them   
no reply  
i miss him.  
blocked  
i still love him  
this number has been disconnected  
hahaha  
jokes on me  
jokes always on me)

 

Patrick listens until there aren't any words left, the room still full with Pete's voice lingering in the air, his chest feeling like it might cave in because he can still see several more notebooks, the years written sloppily on top of them, while the insides hold the blanks from the Pete Wentz he knew to the Pete Wentz he's starting to know.

"What are you thinking about, Patrick?"

He thinks about his words before he says them. "I think I might've been wrong, about what I said before."

Pete meets his eyes on instinct for the first time in a long time. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think...I think this might be able to work."

He can't help but mirror the huge smile on Pete's face. He's starting to remember how contagious he is.

He's starting to remember more of the big picture.

\--

A phone call from Mikey reminds Pete that there is more to the world than just him, Patrick, and Dr. Reynolds.

Patrick had just dropped him off at the spot he'd been picking up him from for the past three days (and they'd talked the entire way there, like it was normal for them, Patrick actually smiling at him and hardly letting it drop the entire drive) and he was in a pretty good mood. Things really had been getting better between them, back to how things use to be when Patrick was dressing like a old man and he spent hours adoring every little aspect about him silently in his own head, while arguing about musicians and movies out loud. If Pete let himself focus on the two of them long enough, he'd swear he was years younger, that Ash and Bronx didn't have such a claim on his life, that it really was them against the world again. 

Those were selfish thoughts, though, he'd tell himself later, and he wasn't selfish.

They had been gone longer this time than he expected however (an impromptu stop by Taco Bell) and he and Ashlee still hadn't really gotten around to planning something for Bronx, but he had been thinking of just flying back to Chicago and letting him see his preschool friends and grandmother, then just staying the week and having Thanksgiving there. Of course, Mikey couldn't have chose a better time to call, lost in his thoughts as he walked home.

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you're doing with Patrick, it has to stop." 

Pete almost stops in his tracks. "What?" 

"Don't 'what' me, Wentz, I've been keeping tabs on you." Mikey sounds offended. And angry. "And I'm telling you to stop before you end up hurting yourself again. I'm not really in the best condition to do distressed damsel saving."

Pete scoffs, "Why don't you stop acting like a jealous ex-boyfriend and let me live my life? I told you I don't need your fucking protection, I know what I'm doing!"

"Do you really, Pete? Or are you making it up as you go, because need I remind you of Brendon, who actually called me wondering where the fuck you've been, or Ashlee, who's been here half of the week looking pitiful worried about you." The words are harsh. "You can't just fall back into your little world, man. You got a family now, people who depend on you, people who need you. I know it's hard for you to focus on anything that's not ignoring you for more than five seconds, but c'mon man, you're better than this. You can try and shove me off as much as you want to, but you need me more than I need you. That's the truth."

Pete hangs up. He doesn't want the truth right now. 

\---

blog entry: november 16th 2013

how can something feel so right and still be so wrong  
i think thats the eighth wonder of the world  
still trying to find the right balance between the two  
ive been on a good streak lets not fail now

\---

"Are we at Bden's place yet?" Bronx asks for the approximately 7th time since leaving home twenty minutes ago. 

"Just a little more, kid." Pete tries to keep his cool. "Be patient." 

He watches his kid squirm in the backseat. In forty eight hours, it'll be another year he's kept him alive. Ashlee tells him not to think that way, but he can't help it, not after the last time. They're going to check out Brendon's band, hang out at his for a while before they take off in the morning, back to Chicago. He doesn't have it in him to break up with him before he leaves, so he decides it can wait a while. Maybe until after they get back. Or after Christmas. Valentine's. St. Patrick's Day for sure.

Not that he was even sure he'd be around then, seeing as they'd been touring. He had started going to practices a day or two ago, getting a feel for the band aspect of things again. It was weird being Patrick's left hand man again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He liked how much more comfortable Patrick seemed with the stage, better with a big stage than a small one, more of a distance between the invisible crowd and him. Pete brings it up to Joe who just shrugs and says, "He never really stopped afraid, I don't think. Just less aware."

Significant others are banned from practices, thankfully, and Pete doesn't have to worry about Ryan looking on and saying something about the almost unnoticeable hitch in Patrick's voice when Pete crosses behind him in the middle of a song, brushing too close and still not close enough. He fights the urge to do it again, to get the contact he'd missed sharing for so long, distracting himself with perfecting his chords, or listening to Andy's conspiracy theories, but nothing feels the void he'd mostly forgotten about. (He brings it up at their last meeting with Dr. Reynolds, to which Patrick flushed and squeezed his hand at. Pete always knew he was too straightforward about things he really cared about, but he likes the way Patrick squirms every time he reads from a journal, the way he hides a smile when he brings up some of their old shenanigans.)

Ashlee seems to be on to them, too, probably because of Mikey, but she never says anything directly about it, just asks more about Brendon and less about band practice. The two of them mean well, he knows they do, but they both also know Pete is a grown man, older than the two of them, and will do what he deems is right no matter how wrong it seems to be. It's not like they're doing anything out of the ordinary, though, just talking more and arguing less, the occasional brush of hands, nothing more. Just how it used to be between them.

The sound of live music hits them long before they hit Brendon's actual house, which Pete had only been to once, yet never inside. He puts Bronx up on his shoulders and goes in through the open garage, not wanting to interrupt them mid-song. There's Spencer, banging away on the drums, Jon wailing on the bass, Ryan blending in with his guitar, and Brendon, walking around in the small space like it's a dance floor, singing out like Pete had never even heard before.

Wait. _Ryan's_ in Brendon's band?

"Hey, you," He doesn't even notice the song ending, doesn't see Brendon come over until he's taking Bronx into his arms, the boy giggling as he's shifted to a hip so Brendon can lean in again and kiss Pete on the lips. "Sorry you had to see that, it was kind of the shittiest we've done that song, but I swear--"

"No, that was amazing." He corrects quickly, too quickly. "Kind of got lost watching you instead of listening, but it was good. Really."

Brendon quirks a brow but doesn't say anything as his attention is taken by the child in his arms, asking if Pete had lied about presents and if Brendon needed a belt, because his pants were kind of low, and why that guy kept looking at them like that, because it was strange and Pete rolls his eyes because his kid had most definitely caught his word vomit at the mouth condition pretty early on. When he turns to look at where Bronx had previously been pointing, Ryan's caught up in a conversation with Spencer. He'd have to ask Brendon when he had become so friendly with the enemy later on, maybe not in those exact words, but ask nonetheless.

They do a couple more songs, Brendon not taking his eyes off Pete once, always searching for something. Reaction, most likely, but Pete just feels like he's on trial for a crime he may or may not have committed. He catches Ryan looking his way a few times, too, but he wouldn't really consider it looking as much as he would glaring. It makes him uncomfortable but he hopes it doesn't show, instead sending what he hopes looks like encouraging smiles Brendon's way and letting Bronx play with his hands. There's no reason for him to raise suspicious that are already raised enough.

He's in the middle of showing Jon one of his older tricks from when he was just starting out with the bass when his phone ringing, annoyingly loud. "Just a sec," He excuses himself, feeling more than one pair of eyes on him as he steps out of the garage. 

"Better be important," He says into the phone, not bothering to look at who's calling. Probably Mikey or someone equally annoying, which was everyone in his contact list at the moment.

"Where are you?" Patrick hisses into the phone, and fuck, he knew he'd forgotten something. "It's fifteen minutes past your ass not being in this chair."

Pete turns to face the garage, seeing Brendon enamored by Bronx's attention, the shared laughter between the rest of the band as they start unhooking things and packing them up. "Uh, Brendon's place? Shit, it totally slipped my mind, it's just kind of hard juggling two very important things at once when shit just keeps hitting you meanwhile. I can be there in thirty minutes, though, if you really want me to?"

He listens to Patrick sigh, then say something he can't really catch at someone else, probably Dr. Reynolds. "No, don't worry about it. Enjoy your last few hours here with someone you won't be stuck with on a small bus with in two weeks or so."

"Don't say it like that." Pete huffs. "I actually look forward to getting away for awhile. Maybe not under the circumstances we have, but well, you take what you get."

"Yeah, I guess." He can almost see Patrick running a hand through his hair, a habit he'd been forming over the last week or so. "You know, I'm kind of glad we're getting back into the swing of things. I kind of missed having someone to confide to."

Pete feels himself smile before he lets the words sink in. "You don't do that with Ryan?"

"He's no you," Patrick chuckles, and Pete doesn't think he knows how much that makes his heart beat against his chest. "I'm not gonna hold you though, go enjoy yourself. I'm sure Brendon's waiting."

He nods, even though Patrick can't see him. "Yeah. I'll call you before we leave, though, maybe we can grab a coffee or something and argue more about stage costumes."

"You're not getting me on that stage in anything but jeans, Wentz." His laughs is infectious, even on the phone. 

"We'll see," He grins. "Bye, Trick."

If he goes inside Brendon's with a bigger smile than usual, he doesn't feel the difference. No one really notices, either, as he slinks into the room, seeing Brendon in the kitchen and the rest of the gang spread out in the living room, Bronx now winning over the hearts of Jon and Spencer as he spins them stories of being almost four and his friends at home. It's heartwarming, really, how well he blends in with everyone. Pete guesses he's got a more open minded crowd than the one he himself grew up with, and he's grateful for that. He couldn't imagine watching his kid growing up the way he had.

He finds himself in the kitchen of Brendon's comfortably small house, the smell of buttery pasta and fresh sauce filling his nose. The chef in question smiles sheepishly, and goes off on a small tangent about why homemade sauce is a million times better than store bought. Pete is almost sure Brendon is just buying time so the house can clear out and he can get a Lady and the Tramp moment. It's almost cute.

"God, they just can't take a hint, can they?" He mutters, peaking out behind the wall as Pete makes plates for two (he hopes the noticeably smaller portion on one of them is enough of a hint that he's willing to fall for his Disney cheesiness for the time being). Ryan had left shortly after Pete had made his reappearance, though his two closest confidants seemed to be sticking it out just to drive Brendon up the wall. "I wonder what it'll take to get them out of here."

"Don't mind them, they win if you keep showing how annoyed you are." Pete notes, taking the smaller plate of food and a fork. "Be right back."

He's almost glad Jon and Spencer are around if only to entertain his son for awhile, he thinks as he puts the plate on the coffee table and Bronx scrambles over. "If you two keep keeping him occupied and make sure his food gets in his mouth and not on his body, there may be some food left over with your names on it."

Spencer rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything as Jon smiles and gets Bronx to sit down and eat "like a big boy". Eventually he'll get to know them better, he promises silently. 

Brendon does try the Lady and the Tramp signature kiss, back in his room with just the glow of the television that they'd hardly played attention to and under the eyes of only the moon, which really just makes them both ignore how good the food is and how their hunger could easily be sated by the pressing of mouth against mouth, skin on skin, eyes locked on eyes. Pete knows it's wrong to want it so much when they aren't truly alone, and most likely never will be, but everybody has wants at some point in their life, they're just better at separating them from needs. He hadn't gotten laid since before Bronx was born, never really thought about how much he missed just the feeling of it all until now where his skin was reacting to everything and nothing at once, feeling so juvenile when he hadn't been so young in what felt like a forever.

"Pete," Brendon groans out after a well placed mark on his collarbone, and Pete's pride swells a little knowing that he still has it in him to make someone turn to putty beneath him. "Pete, they're still--I don't think--"

"They won't know anything as long as you keep it down." He says quietly, letting his hands slide under Brendon's shirt, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as hips roll up to meet hips. "You're so good, B, you're so good."

And he is good, falling into every touch like trap, clothes shedding so quickly Pete can't even remember what they looked like, so good in the way that by the time Pete actually does get inside him (he takes his time at first, not wanting to rush but gets hypnotized by the needy panting coming from under him and just gives in to instinct), he's practically already at his climax. It makes Pete wonder if Brendon's been without for a long time, too, but the way he's so tight around him answers it for him. Neither of them last long, but he's too physically exhausted to care about that. Brendon seems to agree, curling up against him in the wet spot and falling asleep swiftly.

Pete doesn't particularly like the word fuck, but there's nothing that describes what he's done other than something just as filthy. If there were ever a worse time for him not to be sleepy, it's now, and the more he lets himself think of how easily he'd just given in to what he wanted, the more frustrated he is with himself. If he stopped kidding himself for a few minutes, he'd realize how little he actually even knows about Brendon, how much he felt like he wasn't even in his own skin with the kid's sticky body melting into his like a perfect picture of intimacy. He's lying in a bed with someone he's convinced he doesn't know, someone he most definitely doesn't _love_ , and god, it was like he didn't even know himself anymore. Sleeping for people under the reason of pure attraction was something he hadn't even done when he was younger, always falling into bed with someone he trusted and loved in some sort of twisted way. Sure, he'd fallen for those too big smiles and shimmering eyes, but it wasn't anything like how he was used to feeling when he'd finally, finally allowed himself to give in to someone else. He doesn't even realize he's untangled their limbs and crawled out of bed, trembling and muttering quiet swears as he grabs blankly in the darkness until he finds his own clothes, slips into them and creeps out of the room, feeling wholly disgusted with himself. 

He's glad Bronx is a heavy sleeper for what isn't the first time in his life, slipping him from between Jon and Spencer who are probably a lot closer than he'd noticed at first glance, and quietly making his way out of the house. It's too hard to go home, he can already feel Ashlee glaring at him and telling him he's being stupid, but no one understands how his mind works, how he'll outwardly be one of the most admirable and enchanting men in the world, but internally kick his own ass for the smallest things.

No one, he thinks as his hand finds his phone, dialing the number before he can stop himself, but Patrick.

"I don't think there are any coffee joints open this late, Pete," He answers after the third ring, tiredly but amused.

Pete feels the tug of a smile on his face. "I was hoping for some at Casa de Stump, if possible."

He knows he's crossing a boundary they hadn't set yet. He can already hear Patrick awkwardly declining him, hell, he hadn't even thought to factor in if Ryan was there, and from the way he'd been acting in his presence earlier he was probably sticking to Patrick like glue now. It'd probably only get worse when they got on the bus and he saw how Pete and Patrick weren't acting like bickering children and more like, well, PeteandPatrick again. He couldn't even be sure that Joe and Andy hadn't noticed already, hadn't _said_ anything to him about them being so--

"I didn't think you had my address." Patrick's voice bleeds into his thoughts. "Were you just going to teleport yourself over?"

This time he does allow himself to smile. "I've been working on perfecting the science of that, actually..."

\---

Patrick's house feels like a home.

He doesn't ask about Bronx, just points Pete in the direction of one of the guest rooms and lets him lay him down in there even though Pete's a bit wary of it in case he wakes up confused in the strange place, already having a cup of coffee sitting on the island once Pete returns. It's noticeably warmer than it is outside in the chilly, November air, and still Patrick offers him a blanket once he joins him on the couch, sipping away at his own drink. He thinks he might be too comfortable, wrapped up in the blanket with Patrick, the television on but muted, but he doesn't make any move to change it.

"So, I think I still know you well enough to where I know this isn't about coffee." Patrick breaks the silence, seeing that Pete won't as he stares into his mug. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Pete bites his lip, hesitant. "I fucked Brendon."

He's still so busy searching his drink for answers that he doesn't see the way Patrick's eyes widen uncharacteristically for a brief moment before he collects himself. "Then, uh, why do you look so ashamed?"

"I guess I am." Pete shrugs. "I kind of let myself down, didn't really let myself think before I let myself react. I just--I just kind of fucked up tonight. I actually don't want to talk about it, now that I'm thinking about it. Sort of tired."

"Pete," Patrick grabs his face, grabs him by the chin and makes him look at him. "You're alright."

"I'm not--"

"You're alright." Patrick says again, with a bit of lead in his voice. "Whatever you're beating yourself up about this time, it doesn't change what you've done. When you wake up later on today, because I will make sure you sleep, you will still have fuc--slept with Brendon. You can't change that. I can't change that. No one change that. What you can do, though, is own up to that and not bail on him more than you've already done. He's gonna wake up looking for you, thinking he's done something wrong and when he calls you, you're going to pick up that phone, and you're going to tell him why you left, and you're going to promise not to do it again. You're alright."

Pete can't argue because he knows it's true. "I'm alright."

"Good." The redhead smiles warmly, letting his hand fall down and Pete tries to convince himself he doesn't miss the contact. "Go get some rest. then."

"Aren't you going to sleep, too?" Pete asks, standing.

Patrick picks up a notebook and a pen that Pete hadn't noticed. "Later on, maybe."

It's tempting to sit back down, lay on Patrick and try to get a peak at whatever he's concocting, crossing out and writing lines and lines of lyrics until the sun comes up and he absolutely has to go, but he's already given in to enough tonight. He settles for a small smile in Patrick's direction, a friendly ruffle of his hair as he passes, a peaceful call of 'goodnight' once he's down the hall.

And then he sleeps.


	5. the art of keeping up (dis)appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seems clock's running out for pete's luck. or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this chapter is the longest one yet, and it's the most bothersome one for me. i actually had to do the embarrassing act of letting a friend (who isn't bandom but is crucially honest) read the entire thing and she said it was pretty cliche, and i can understand that, but when i told her about the future plans, she said i had better keep writing it and spice it up some.
> 
> there is one more chapter after this, and yeah, it's a cliffhanger. fortunately for you all, i'm only going to take a week long break from the story, and i may or may not post a side collection of a few scenes from patrick's point of view (if anyone's interested in a specific scene, then you should totally comment and say which). i'm really having a hard time posting this because i feel like this could've gone so many different ways and i picked the one that's kind of the easiest one to work with right now. feedback/comments/critique is loved and appreciated. i hope you all enjoy, and for all those with exams, good luck! all those finished with them, fuck you! (nah, have a nice break. we all need one.)

"...and Gran is gonna make the biggest, bestest cake and it's gonna be so cool, Trick!"

Pete blinks himself awake, the smell of food and the sounds of familiar laughs bringing him fully conscious. It takes him a minute or two after he shuffles to the closet only to find it empty to remember this isn't his house, and with that realization, he buries his palms into his eyes, rubbing out the frustration he hadn't expected to come upon so quickly. 

In the kitchen, Bronx's climbed on the counter, eyes wide and watching as Patrick puts finishing touches on pancakes especially made for the almost-birthday boy. Patrick himself is humming something to himself, still listening to Bronx go on about all the things he wanted tomorrow. He doesn't even notice Pete until he's turned to put the food on the counter, greeting him with a small smile before directing his attention to cutting up Bronx's food. 

As if that weren't enough for Pete to handle, his phone goes off.

Patrick says something over his shoulder about, "Five missed calls from Brendon, two from Ashlee," so Pete suspects it to be one of them, and is correct for guessing so, because before he can even breathe out a hello, Ash is attacking him with questions of where he he had been all night with her son, and the flight leaves in four hours so they needed to leave soon, and what the _fuck _did he do to Brendon, because she woke up to a distressed call from him long before the sun had rose, oh, and where was he currently, so she could come kick his ass. Mostly he doesn't say anything other than the appropriate yes or no, or a small vague reply, which he knows infuriates her to no end, but he's still kind of in shock watching his son and his ex-lover/friend turned friend again act like they've been around each other longer than the few hours Pete had been asleep and Bronx hadn't, eating and laughing and babbling about cartoons and music, and Pete swears he hears himself mentioned a few times but he never catches why, Ashlee always raising her voice a tad bit more just before he can allow himself to eavesdrop. It's a full thirty minutes before she finally gives up, telling him they'd have the entire plane ride to talk and never has Pete looked forward to something less. He hangs up with the promise of being home within the next hour.__

__He gets in a few bites of the plate he'd only just noticed in front of him before his phone goes off again, sliding his finger across the screen with a sigh before holding the phone to his ear with a "Hello," he hopes doesn't come out as annoyed as he feels._ _

__"Uh, where have you been? You just left me with no note or anything, no sign that you had even been here and then you weren't answering me or Ash's calls, do you know how--"_ _

__"I think it might have been best that way." He cuts off Brendon a little harshly, "Me leaving without a trace, that is. I wasn't ready for last night, hell, neither of us were ready for last night, I mean, I barely know anything about you, I don't know your favorite color or places to eat or where you're from or anything about your family, and we just got so caught up in everything, and I had been thinking about--"_ _

__"If you think you're about to break up with me before we go off on tour, so help me God, Pete, I will kill you with my own hands the next time I see you."_ _

__Pete pauses in his eating, fork halfway raised to his mouth. "Did you say before 'we' go on tour?"_ _

__"Oh, _fuck_ ," Brendon says, right as Patrick's front door swings open to reveal Ryan Ross, sporting a grin that Pete had never seen on him before. "That was supposed to be a sur--"_ _

__"You'll never believe who's opening up for you on tour--" Ryan says at the same time as Brendon and Pete feels himself freeze at the same time as Ryan's eyes grow cold seeing him sitting at the bar, Patrick turning away from the television and looking like a deer in headlights and Bronx keeps babbling on, and Brendon is _still_ talking when Ryan's fists ball up and he starts charging in Pete's direction and everything seems to happen so quickly he doesn't even feel it when Ryan punches him in the face, hard, his phone falling out of his hand and most likely breaking because iPhones are shit at being durable, and he's thinking about investing in a new phone brand when Ryan swings again, only this time it doesn't hit him._ _

__Sometime in between the first hit and the second one, Patrick had got up and positioned himself in between the two of them, and was now holding Ryan's fist tightly in one hand, both of their arms trembling at the force._ _

__"Ry," He speaks calmly, as Pete swears loudly at the sudden burst of pain where Ryan hit him, knowing his eye will be swollen shut by the end of the day. "Ry, I need you to calm down."_ _

__Ryan sneers as Pete scoops up his child, who looks shocked as his father's nose leaks blood on their dirty clothes, "Calm down when he's playing house in _our_ home with you? Do you think I'm stupid, Patrick?"_ _

__"I'm not--" Pete tries to correct him but Ryan just cuts him off, "You think you can come in here and try to get him back when you've both moved on? Do you realize how much shit you've unintentionally dragged him through, how long it took for me to work him through his abandonment issues, and you just waltz back in here with your little happy family and think you can have him, too? You're fucking insane if you think that's true, especially not when you have fucking Brendon on the side, too, hell if I fucking know why he's trying with someone as fucked up as you after all my damn warnings--"_ _

__"And what do you know about Brendon, huh?" Pete barks, "You've known him for all of a few weeks and you think you've got the right to talk about him like that, talk about me like that when you don't know shit about us?"_ _

__Ryan laughs like he's heard the best joke and Patrick drops their hands, something like guilt all on his face as Ryan says, "I've known Bren since we were freshmen in high school, dumbass, and I'll know him better than you ever will no matter how long you two keep pretending your relationship is all fine and dandy. I know you two fucked last night, but do you know who was in him last before you? It was--"_ _

__Pete punches him, hard in the stomach, shaking more than he can remember ever doing, and he catches that look of hesitance as Patrick looks from between the two of them, holding those clouded, confused blue eyes for a second too long before bolting out the door._ _

__He's always been good at running from his problems._ _

__\---_ _

__The first thing Ashlee does when she sees him is drop the bags and go, "Holy fuck," before pulling him and Bronx inside, to the bathroom to clean him up._ _

__It's strange, all three of them being as quiet as they are. Ash doesn't ask about his eye, just gives him some ice to put on it, and cleans away the dried blood from under his nose and making sure it wasn't broken. She doesn't ask any questions, actually, just cleans him up, changes Bronx into something clean, and makes sure they haven't left anything before they pile into the truck and catch their flight._ _

__They don't talk for the entire flight, Pete staring outside the window with his headphones in and Ashlee asleep with Bronx pressed close to her chest almost protectively, as if this was all Pete's fault, as if he's a danger to his own kid. He can't even kid himself into thinking that he isn't, because what kind of father lets his child into a potentially dangerous situation, has him watch something that could potentially scar him for life, has him see how pathetic his dad really is? God, and if Ashlee didn't hate him before, she probably will when Bronx gets talkative again and starts telling her about all his new uncles and how Dad got so hurt at Trick's house. Not to mention him not even having a phone at the moment, so he couldn't even call Brendon and properly do whatever the hell he was doing this morning. Break up with him? Explain himself? Continue to run from his problems? Man, he'd really managed to fuck up this time. Mikey was probably laughing his ass off, wherever he was._ _

__When they leave the airport they actually go straight to his mom's, which is the most welcoming thing to happen all day. The second he sees her he goes to give her a big, tight hug and she gasps at his eye and he tries his best to keep it all together, but he can smell homemade cookies and feel the warmth of the house, and it's kind of hard not to just crumble where he is. Ashlee gives a tight smile before going in the house, though she meets Pete's eyes as she does and he knows they're going to talk as soon as she lays Bronx down in his old room. He lets out a sigh as he finally lets go of his mother, though the feel of Hemmy sniffing at his leg is a small comfort._ _

__The two of them sit on the porch, hot chocolate in their hands as Hemingway sprints back and forth across the lawn. "So, where do we start?"_ _

__"Why don't we start with what you've actually been doing this past week or so, and don't give me any shit about band practice or anything like that. I've talked to just about everyone I could get ahold of worried about you." She says sharply._ _

__Pete takes a long drink from his mug, the burn at the back of his throat and on his tongue somewhat helping him find words. "I've been with Patrick. Fixing things. Fixing us."_ _

__Ashlee nods, "Mikey had a hunch."_ _

__"Mikey's a dick." Pete grumbled. "I don't see why we can't all be civil adults."_ _

__She chuckles, "Doesn't seem like anything civil went on this morning."_ _

__"Ryan's a dick, too. He's lucky Bronx was around, or I would've kicked his ass so bad."_ _

__"Sure you would've, hun."_ _

__They share a small laugh, falling into a comfortable silence. Ashlee rests her head on his shoulder, sighing contently as the wind blew softly. "I wish you would've just told me instead of hiding from me. You know I don't really support you and him much, but if you're happy then I'm alright."_ _

__"Sorry." Pete mumbles. "I wasn't really thinking much of anyone, honestly. I was just so caught up in how things used to be--"_ _

__"--but you're not back in the past, Pete. You've got Bronx, Brendon, and me now. I still don't think you realize the hold he's had on you, but you've got your own holds on people to deal with, y'know? We need you."_ _

__Pete watches Hemmy dig a hole in the light snow that's dusted the ground. "Yeah, but I need him, too."_ _

__"You only think--"_ _

__"Ashlee," Pete sighs, "You don't know, ok? You and Mikey don't know _shit_ about what me and Patrick had, what we currently have. He gets me, alright? He got me better than anyone else had and he was barely in my life a year, to the point where he's had a fucking hold or whatever you want to call it over me. We've been working on improving ourselves, we've been to therapy so we won't fuck up the band on this stupid fucking tour, we've been through a hell of a lot in such a short time, and I don't need you telling me what you think about something I know."_ _

__Ashlee says, "Okay," and goes quiet before bringing up another sore subject, "Where does Brendon stand in all of this?"_ _

__"He's around," Pete shrugs, "I can't exactly get rid of him if he's going to tour with us. The last thing I need to do is stir up more shit on this thing."_ _

__"So you're staying with him?"_ _

__"I guess so."_ _

__"Even though you'd rather be with Patrick."_ _

__"Y--What? Ashlee, shut up."_ _

__She grins knowingly, "You said it, not me."_ _

__"I didn't say shit." He grabs her sides, and he's barely began tickling her before she starts up with her loud laughs, and that's when he knows they're okay, they aren't where they used to be, she probably still a little mad, but they're okay. "I'm wiping your memory with every laugh, you know."_ _

__The two of them goof off for a little while, slipping and sliding in the snow, chasing Hemmy and Bronx joins them just before they're out of breath, his mom calling them all in to clean up and get ready for dinner, and maybe they aren't the most picture perfect family, but they're all happy and mostly healthy, so he can't really ask for more._ _

__Dale has made a feast for just the four of them, which is no problem since Bronx hadn't hit his picky eater phase quite yet, and Pete could never turn down the food he'd grown up on (and, he always joked, stopped him from growing to his fullest potential). She doesn't bother asking about his eye, thank God, and the conversation flows lightly, talking about his dad going to get Hilary and Andrew, who were originally coming early in the morning but got their flight messed up and ended up a state over, as well as Pete filling in as a bassist on the Fall Out Boy tour._ _

__"Isn't that a little awkward, dear?" His mother asks later, as he helps her with dishes. "I mean, you practically made that band."_ _

__"A little," Pete admits. "But we're all getting along pretty great, so no worries."_ _

__She raises a brow, "Even you and Patrick?"_ _

__"Yeah, we've--we've both really matured, I guess." He raises up on his toes to put up a stack of dried plates. "And moved on, too, so. Yeah. We're ok. We've actually been working on our relationship. lately, and I think we're getting back to some sort of normality--"_ _

__"Did you stop loving him?"_ _

__The words make him freeze up a little, but he just shakes his head with a small smile. "Do you ever stop loving someone?"_ _

__"I don't think you're as over him as you think." She kisses his cheek, draining the water from the sink and going to get ready for bed._ _

__Pete leans against the counter, the same one what felt like decades ago he'd pressed Patrick up against in the midst of a pathetic house party he'd thrown one weekend his parents were out. "It feels like I'll never stop hearing that."_ _

__He wonders outside with the excuse of walking Hemingway for a while, going down the streets and getting hit with waves of nostalgia, though never going down far enough to where he could spot Patrick's old house, where there was smoke coming out of the chimney and where he could remember seeing him for the first time, argyle and old man glasses, Patricia bringing them cookies after they'd convinced Patrick to sing for the band, the warm smiles they shared and just the warmth they all seemed to radiate in each other's presence, even though Andy was a band whore and Joe was a pothead and Pete was mentally fucked and Patrick didn't fit anywhere but was the glue that kept them all together. They had come a long way since then, he could allow himself to remember, but if he didn't have to look at what caused the riff between him and them every single day, then maybe it would be easier to forget._ _

__Ashlee tends to his eye before he goes to tuck Bronx into his old bed in his old room, singing softly about honey for bees and jelly beans everywhere like he always had, even though Hemmy probably sings better than he does. But it gets his kid asleep, small sleepy smile on his face, and he's good enough. He's always tried to remember the words as he hums them later, but they change before he can write them down, and he just forgets to, anyway. He'll watch him, just for a minute or two, before pressing a light kiss into his blonde curls before shutting the door quietly and crawling into his own bed and scribbling out lines until his body finally tires out and he can match the slow rise and fall of Ashlee's body, buried under the cover of darkness and rest._ _

__\---_ _

__Pete Wentz | @plkwentz_ _

__can't call him the three yr old anymore. times flies when youre havin fun._ _

__\---_ _

__Pete gets a replacement phone. The first thing he does is see if Brendon has Thanksgiving plans._ _

__He doesn't._ _

__\---_ _

__**Q: what did u guys do 4 bronxs bday** _ _

__A: we threw the four yr old a tmnt party. substitute their love for pizza with his love for cake._ _

__**Q: omg ur going on your w fob!!!! super rad!!! why didnt you tell us??? :(** _ _

__A: surprise motherfuckers_ _

__**Q: Any new books coming out anytime soon?** _ _

__A: none finished, but plenty in the works_ _

__**Q: whos the starbucks guy** _ _

__A: hes not the starbucks guy. hes the lead singer of a band guy._ _

__**Q: are you and ashlee still together???** _ _

__A: always and forever (hopefully)_ _

__**Q: Who's "Trick"?** _ _

__A: psteezy._ _

__**Q: did u retire from soccer** _ _

__A: i still have a contract. not very active_ _

__**Q: if you could take one thing with you on a deserted island what would it be?** _ _

__A: a boat._ _

__**Q: whats ur connection to fob?** _ _

__A: mikeyways a close personal pal, everyone else...we go way back too._ _

__**Q: robots or dinosaurs?** _ _

__A: robo-saurs?_ _

__**Q: does bronx have any celeb baby buds?** _ _

__A: he and bandit get along pretty well when we all hang out_ _

__**Q: Do you like Chicago or LA more?** _ _

__A: chicago's my home but la has my heart. i think i'll always love chicago more though. nice and quiet. helps me remember things._ _

__**Q: What's your relationship with Brendon Urie?** _ _

__A: cant believe hes not my dirty little secret anymore_ _

__**Q: is patrick stump "trick"** _ _

__A: *insert cryptic retort here*_ _

__(btw: stop asking me this question or i'll turn off comments, guys. getting kinda old, don'cha think?)_ _

__\---_ _

__Dale and Peter love Brendon._ _

__Hilary and Andrew tell him stories about how much of a nerd he used to be (and still is) and Ashlee smiles a lot happier than most people would expect. It's a nice Thanksgiving, and for once Pete feels like he's done something right._ _

__(He calls Patrick later, when walking Hemingway. He's in town.)_ _

__\---_ _

__Patrick Stump | @patrickstump_ _

__Had brunch with @plkwentz and company. Wrote some stuff. Setlist for touring may or may not hold some surprises._ _

__\---_ _

__"Ok, I know you aren't the biggest monogamist alive, but you'd tell me if there was someone other than Ashlee, right?"_ _

__The trunk of the car falls on Pete's head, him letting out a swear before lifting it back up to slam it shut and rubbing his head. "What the _fuck_ , B?"_ _

__The light snow and cold weather tinge Brendon's cheeks to a light pink. He's got his hands shoved into a bubble jacket, black skull cap pulled over his head with some of those expensive earmuffs on, and his red glasses are kind of fogged up from the heat inside the car. "I'm just saying, you spend an awful lot of time with--"_ _

__"Can we not do this?" Pete sighs exasperatedly. "Me and Patrick, we had something back in the day, but that was then. We're friends and nothing else, ok? We're catching up on lost time. We're going to spend the next few months on a bus together. I'd rather us be friendly than antagonistic."_ _

__Brendon puts his hands up in surrender. "I was just--"_ _

__"And speaking of friends, when the hell were you going to tell me you dated Ryan?" Pete folds his arms, turning to face him as Brendon visibly fumbles. "Yeah, I know about that. Don't try to deny it, either."_ _

__"Me and Ryan fucked, yeah, back when I was a confused teen and he was secure in his sexuality." He corrects defensively. "I wouldn't say we ever dated, but I guess I can see where you got that from. Ryan was a little...over-romantic? Is that a thing? You know what I mean, he just wanted something I wasn't exactly capable of giving back then, and we had a disagreement about where we stood, but we're still pretty good friends, I guess."_ _

__"So in essence, like me and 'Trick?"_ _

__"No, not like you and Patrick," Brendon rolls his eyes. "You and Patrick--you two were in love. I'll admit, I've skimmed your LiveJournal, Pete, and what you wrote about him, I can't speak for Ryan, but I never felt that for him. I just wanted a fuck, and he wanted so much more. He wanted what you two had, if I'm honest. And I never wanted that with him. I don't want that with him. You, on the other hand..."_ _

__Pete waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't say anything, just watches the snow fall. "Me, on the other hand...?"_ _

__"If Patrick were to walk up right now and say that he'd fully forgiven you, that he would take you back and leave Ryan so long as you just said yes, you'd agree in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" Brendon asks, looking Pete in the eyes, catching his shock and surprise, and then suddenly nothing as Pete looks away from him. "Yeah, thought so."_ _

__"Bren, you just don't--"_ _

__"I know." Brendon holds his hand up again, "I know, I don't understand, I'm not him and I never will be. I'm not trying to be. It's just that you're not really giving me a fair chance here when your body's with me and your heart is who knows where. It might be a little hard to believe, but I do like you, even with all your baggage and mental shit and all the drama that comes with you. I like you despite all that and the knowing of the fact that the second something better comes along, I'm gone. But when I see you come back from being with him, that grin on your face, that pep in your step, that extra ounce of just you, it hurts a little, you know. I want to be something like that for you, if only temporarily. Because I've never seen you at your worst, only when you want me to see you, and I want to experience all I can before you let me go."_ _

__Pete looks at him for a full minute, taking in all he's said, a little shocked, a little awed. "You really believe I'll just drop you like that."_ _

__Brendon gives a half smile, almost like the one he'd given him the first time they'd met. "I'd like to think I know you better than I think I do."_ _

__"Sorry your shoes are a little too big to fill."_ _

__"I can stick socks in the toes."_ _

__They both laugh, seeing their breath in the air and slightly shiver at the cold. He isn't quite sure who initiates the kiss, but it's reciprocated on both ends, and suddenly it doesn't matter he's no Patrick, but the fact that he's Brendon. Brendon, who can take him and all his baggage and drama and constant need and want. Brendon, who knows he's got damaged goods and still pays full price. Brendon, who's actually there, and not lingering, but always there._ _

__Ashlee, who Pete had been completely oblivious to up until this point, blows the horn and yells at them to stop scarring their child. They break apart and laugh again, holding hands to the short distance to Brendon's seat in the car._ _

__It's only later, when they're on the plane, Brendon asleep on one shoulder and Ashlee on the other, when he realizes how good he has it not to deserve it at all, and that's what makes his stomach churn the rest of the flight home._ _

__(It doesn't help he's been texting Patrick on and off all day.)_ _

__(It doesn't help he still wants that chance he's probably not going to get.)_ _

__

__\---_ _

__Pete Wentz | @plkwentz_ _

__one more day until tour begins. you guys as pumped as me?_ _

__\---_ _

__Pete doesn't expect Gerard to answer the door at Mikey's house, but in some way, he should have. He looks tired, but when doesn't he? His hands have dried paint on them and he's got a smudge on his cheek, too, but he doesn't bother telling him. "New project?"_ _

__"Old one," He half grins, and Pete can hear the laugh and pitter patter of Bandit. "Plus Alicia wanted some play time with her almost niece, so."_ _

__"Mikey in his room?"_ _

__"Yeah, should be. He was asleep last time I checked, but he might be up now."_ _

__Pete nods, entering the house and waving at Alicia and Bandit, as well as Frank who's also got paint on him, and a few unknown strangers, probably wedding people, before heading up the stairs. The house feels bigger than it used to, which is strange since there's more people in it than he can remember, but everything looks almost the same, and he blames the new decor on the new lady. He knocks on the bedroom door before he enters out of habit, walking in without a word._ _

__Mikey's laying in bed, brace locked on his right leg and a sling holding his cast, staring near where Pete is with raised brows, as if he wasn't expecting him to come by at all. "Well."_ _

__Pete rolls his eyes and flops down on the other side of the bed. "You're a dick."_ _

__"Yeah, well, you're the reason my arm's fucked." Mikey sniffles._ _

__"Are you honestly going to miss touring?"_ _

__Mikey shrugs, "Time off gives me more time with Alicia, and I can't say I'd prefer being on a bus with a bunch of homos instead of that."_ _

__"Dude, shut up." He lightly punches him in his good arm, laughing as Mikey pretends to be hurt. "You're totally going to miss us all. We're gonna be a whole state away and you'll be weeping about missing my beautiful face."_ _

__"Yeah, 'cos I won't have anything to punch." Mikey snorts, "But I'm sure Ryan will get in some hits for me."_ _

__"Fuck off, I would've had his skinny ass if the four year old wasn't around. Man, that still feels weird to say. He should've been three forever." Pete sighs wistfully. "Don't have kids, man, they grow up way too fast."_ _

__Mikey shakes his head, "Trust me, I've learnt from Gee and Bee, I'm holding that route off until I'm completely done with my music and everything. I don't wanna miss a second of my kid growing up, I don't see how people like us do it."_ _

__"It's a sacrifice we choose to make." He shrugs. "You never realize how good you got it until you sit and think about it."_ _

__Mikey nods, "That's pretty deep."_ _

__Pete yawns and doesn't say anything else, just scoots over enough to where he's resting on Mikey's good leg, and somehow Mikey's hands find their way to Pete's head to card his fingers through his hair. It's just as comforting as it had always been, their silent form of communication at work. He didn't need to spill his heart out and all his troubles to Mikey; he always seemed to know and just offered whatever he could, little as it might be._ _

__They lay like that for awhile, television on as background noise and the curtains are open enough he can notice the sun starting fade into the clouds. Pete knows he needs to leave soon, he's got a final practice to go through and he's only half packed, plus he wants to get home in time to tuck in Bronx. He pushes up from the bed, stretching with a yawn. "Better get going."_ _

__"I'm just a phone call away, you know, shithead." Mikey gives a small grin. "Try to enjoy yourself, alright?"_ _

__Pete chuckles, "I'll see what I can do."_ _

__Practice goes smoothly, outside a few late pickups on his part, a lack of focus on Patrick's. He can feel Ryan's eyes on him the entire time, calling him back when he gets close enough to where a reach of his arm would make him touch Patrick, making snarky comments on how he played. He kept his head up, though, and every second he wasn't on stage, he was talking about something with Brendon or Spencer or Jon (who were dating, he so called it), or practicing one of the secret songs with Joe or Andy. Pete was a firm believer in ignoring your problems until they went away or solved themselves, and Ryan was just proving him right._ _

__He was happier when he found out the bands would be separated on two different buses, though he knew Ryan would probably still be in face a majority of the time. Not that it would bother him, oh no, because according to Brendon, he pretty much had everything Ryan wanted, so if he managed to casually rub that in his face over the tour, well, it wasn't completely intentional. They had started talking about bunking assignments and the general layout of the bus just as the room was filled was filled was feedback and all hands went over ears in reflex. Pete let the hands slip away at the sight of Patrick, cheeks tinged a light pink and a grin on his face, eyes shining behind the glint coming from his glasses. He starts to call him over, hand half raised and mouth half open before he sees it, sees the glint coming from Patrick's hand that scratching his hair sheepishly, and slowly his hand goes back down and he presses somewhat instinctively into Brendon's side, who wraps an arm around his shoulders automatically._ _

__He'd almost forgotten Ryan also had something he wanted (more than anything else in the world)._ _

__The two of them don't even stick around long after, just wave their short goodbyes and step out, and suddenly Pete feels a little tired, standing and excusing himself to get some air. It's no big secret he's freaking out inside, almost everyone there knew he and Patrick had something, keyword being had, so no one stops him, and he's standing on the top of the stairs on the backstage of the venue he'd back at in less than twenty four hours, taking in deep breaths and desperately wishing he had a damn smoke, even though he hadn't had the need or urge to since he was dumbass teenager. The door clicks open behind him and he just grips the railing until his hands turn white._ _

__"Freezing your ass off won't help anyone, you know." Brendon states, swinging Pete's coat over his shoulders and keeping his hands there, as if he was grounding him. "I didn't know he was going to do that. Not today, at least."_ _

__"It's fine," Pete shrugs even though it isn't. "It's just another marriage on the bandwagon. Jon should pop the question to Spence, too. Give me a few weeks and I might can do the same to you."_ _

__Brendon sighs, and Pete can see his breath. "They've been together for awhile, dude, you can't say this is completely shocking. And don't be a dick. You should be happy he's happy if you two are going to try the friendship thing."_ _

__"I'm not trying to be, it's just not everyday you're witness to that kind of betrayal, B." Pete huffs._ _

__"No offense, but isn't that kind of what you did to him with Ash?"_ _

__Pete laughs bitterly, "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all--"_ _

__"Sort of, but not really." Pete practically jumps at the new voice. "For one, there's no kid involved. Two, I actually have feelings for Ryan."_ _

__"You think I never loved Ashlee?" Pete scoffs, seeing Patrick in his line of sight, down on the ground below all bundled up. He can still see the gleam off the engagement band. "What are you even still doing here?"_ _

__"You don't love anyone like you do me, as narcissistic as that may sound." Patrick points out. "Which isn't really fair to anyone, and you know that."_ _

__"Because you fucked me up! You think I want to still be hung up on you? You think I want to compare everyone to you? You think I like everyone pitying me because I'm so obviously incapable of functioning without you, or them having constant worry that if something happens and I relapse, I'm gone for good?"_ _

__Brendon clears his throat, "I'm, uh, gonna leave you two to it."_ _

__The door closes and fuck, it's cold. He shrugs into his coat, Patrick unmoving beneath him, eyes wary like they had been at the hospital all those years ago. Why shouldn't he be, why shouldn't everyone be when all he was was a ticking time bomb, dying to explode, constantly flaring up with false alarms until he finally self-destructed? He was a mess, an unstable mess, and that's all he ever would be. He had no reason to be upset with Patrick--most normal people chose the sane over the insane, and he and Ryan could write beautiful music together and adopt little African children and be happy, while all he wanted to do was just keep piling up people he thought he needed when he already had more than enough._ _

__"Feels like damn Romeo and Juliet out here," He half-laughs, "Gonna go all Shakespeare on me and spill your heart out?"_ _

__"You know, when I said it wasn't fair to anyone, I kind of meant me." Patrick's voice is quiet, and Pete really has to listen to catch the words. "You can't just blame me for all of this--for all of that. We both did that, we both ruined each other for other people, and maybe you don't get that you aren't the only victim here since it seems like everyone in your circle of friends is painting me out as the villain, but really, Pete, can't you at least pretend to be happy for me? I know you and Ryan aren't friends, I'd honestly rather you not be, but it's like Dr. Reynolds said. We both have to move forward. The past is the past. We've got our whole lives ahead of us to live for, why be stuck back there?"_ _

__Pete shrugs, letting out a long breath he hadn't known he was holding. "The past was made for us, I guess."_ _

__The wind blows hard, and Patrick's hat nearly goes flying in the hair. Pete crosses his arms, trying to get more heat to his body. He wonders what they really look like right now, shivering and boiling with anger in the cold, words on their tips of their tongues but none coming out._ _

__"We've been engaged for almost a year." Patrick chuckles, "We just got around to the rings, I guess. I didn't want to go public, but I guess I don't really have much of a choice now."_ _

__"How long have you two been dating?"_ _

__"Since a little after the breakup. When I was working on Soul Punk he was around, and well, we got along. He kind of pushed me through the process of that, and worked me out of my...issues."_ _

__"Like wh--"_ _

__"I'm kind of terrified." Pete doesn't remember coming down the stairs, walking up to Patrick, but he's right there in front of him, watching him tremble and his eyes glaze over. "It's been what, nearly four years, and I'm still scared he's gonna walk out on me? Pretty pathetic, right?"_ _

__"Trick--"_ _

__"And I know you're fucked too, but you have people, Pete. I didn't--I don't have anybody! I've talked to different professionals and all that, but they can only help until they can't anymore. Andy and Joe don't know what it's like, and Ryan just wanted me to get over it. Just forget about you up and leaving me like that, your own mother didn't know where you were, I couldn't look in my basement for months. Every where I went, you were there, and I'd blink and you'd be gone, just like that. After the band got big, yeah, it was easier to forget, but your name was like a bad omen every time I heard it on the television or radio. You were everywhere and nowhere at once, and I had to accept that. And now you're here. You're here, and I'm trying to work you back in where you can fit, but it's hard, because you don't fit where you use to, and I can't live like you do and share my love equally, I give my love to one person at a time, and I can't--"_ _

__"Okay," Pete breathes, and he crashes them together, shivering and shaking and just becoming one for the briefest of moments. He can let go, he knows he can, he just needs this one thing before he does, just this one kiss for the road and he can make it through the tour seeing Ryan and Patrick making out and pick out wedding colors and laugh and talk and just breathe the same air together, and he can accept Patrick not wanting him anymore except Patrick doesn't pull away._ _

__It's like he's split his head open with that realization, Patrick's not pulling away and he's not either, and his hands loosen their grip on Patrick's coat while Patrick's grip on his shoulders tighten. He can hear the back door open, hear Brendon call his name and fall short, and they're still locked in each other, still in their little bubble, and it's Pete that has to break away, only because he needs air._ _

__"We can't--"_ _

__"I know."_ _

__"The guys--"_ _

__"Won't say anything."_ _

__"But we--"_ _

__"Please." It's pleading._ _

__Their eyes lock, lips still red from before and each protest and shut down dies out right then, and Pete realizes that at any moment Ryan could show up and he honestly just doesn't care, so long as he get what he wants, because he's lived a pretty shit life, and he can live with being a little selfish._ _

__"Fuck," Is all the answer he gets, but it's a good one, and when he runs inside to get Brendon so they can run by his place before it gets completely dark, wide grin on his face that he think beats his boyfriend's on his best day, he gets a knowing nudge and they lock hands the way to his car, Brendon teasing and Pete hushing him, and maybe it's alright to have it all. He can handle it._ _

__(He's done running, at least.)_ _


	6. if you close your eyes, you'll miss out on all the beauty the world has in store for you. don't blink.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anti-climatic ending the arc one of four of the series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is late, but consider it a christmas gift, in a way. finals kicked my ass hard--but hey, i'm pretty sure i aced the majority of them. this was a weird chapter for me to write, because even with my planning i didn't know where i wanted it to end. that's why this is short, bittersweet, and probably sprinkled with plot holes. i'd apologize, but i think the story still carries on it's own, and it can only get better from here, right?
> 
> thank you to all who commented, gave kudos, bookmarked, or simply read along and squealed at home. thanks to my unfortunate friends who had to sample odd portions of this and give me feedback even though they didn't care about RPF or homosexuals with emotional trauma. thanks to everyone i can think of and not write out here, and i'll be back in 2014 with the next half of this. may all your christmases (or just holiday break) be merry and white, and have an awesome as fuck new year.
> 
> NOTE: this chapter picks up from the hospital scene flashback. fyi.

_"I don't know."_

_Pete raises a brow, "You came all the way out here to see me and don't know why?"_

_"I came in case Mikey needed me." Patrick shrugged._

_"He's seen his brother in worse shape. Knowing him he probably wanted to come alone."_

_"I guess I was fucking curious, okay." He huffs, "I hadn't seen you in years, I just wanted to see you, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?"_

_"Not exactly." Pete shifts uncomfortably in his bed, and Patrick just wants to leave and pretend this hadn't happened. He doesn't belong here anymore than one of Pete's fans loitering around outside. This had to be the worst idea he'd had in months. "Do you think you can tell me why you can't return a phone call at a reasonable time of day during the week, yet when I'm all drugged up and half-dead you can make an in person appearance during your tour?"_

_Patrick sighs. "Do you think we can ignore that and focus on why you deemed it a good idea to fucking disappear off the face of the planet?"_

_"I needed to know--" He cuts himself short, a look of shock overtaking him._

_"What?"_

_He clears his throat, "I just...I needed to know. If I was important. Among other things."_

_Patrick squints, "You could've died, you idiot--"_

_"I wouldn't have cared." He shrugs, like it's no big deal. Like him being a cold, dead body in the ground was no big deal. Like it wouldn't make a difference. "You just don't know, Trick. You weren't there when the doctor said oh, the baby's dead, and neither one of us even cried. I was gone the next day. She was out drinking with her friends. Our relationship was a joke. It was fucking sick, twisted joke, and the whole time I just wanted you to pick up the damn phone. You wouldn't have even needed to say a single thing, I could've been okay with knowing you were breathing. You know what my first fucking thought was? 'Hey, maybe he'll talk to me now!' Who fucking does that? Who the fuck does that?_

_I just didn't care, I fucking wanted what I wanted--and yet, here I am, in this fucking hospital again, and I'm hoping Ashlee doesn't hate me for being such a fucking selfish husband, because she could be with anyone else and I just wouldn't care, but she's with me, and I hate that. I hate that she's 100% and I'm not. It's not fair, dammit. We've got a fucking kid on the way, something that's got my DNA is going to be living and breathing in less than seven months, and I'm nowhere near ready for that. That kid's going to come out, and I'm going to still be fucking up. I'm still going to be emotionally stupid, I'm still going to wish that fuck, no one had found me in that stupid car and I would've just died, because I'm not meant for this. I wasn't--this isn't--a fucking kid--"_

_"Pete." Patrick says his name like it's the only word he's ever known, and Pete closes his eyes tight, catching his breath before he loses it all, and they're too close, Patrick's touching his hand like it's glass, like he's glass. "Don't."_

_"Don't what?"_

_"Just don't."_

_There's several different forms of contact that follow, one that gets their hearts racing too fast and too quick, and one that comes right after raised voices with unanswered questions, but they sting just the same. The touches linger long after they separate, and the memories never fade, only burn with intensity._

**\---**

When Pete wakes up he feels like a new man.

Sneaking out of the house to go fool around with a near married man in a overpriced hotel wasn't his plan, but he can't complain when he wakes up and sees the way the light hits that gorgeous red hair, his chest rising up and down slowly in a peaceful sleep. It's the first good sleep he's had in ages without the aid of a pill, and they hadn't even fucked last night, just touched and rediscovered skin, Patrick tracing over all the newer tattoos like roadmaps to something great. Something great between them, even.

He knows that there is chance that at any moment, Patrick could wake up, see him, and just run and pretend nothing had happened, that he was too scared of a little infidelity or a slip of tongues and he'd quit before Pete could blink. But if Brendon was anything to go by, then, well, maybe he could tough it out, too. He'd stick with him until he came to his senses and realized Ryan was what he wanted and just demoted him back down to friendship status, and yeah, it'd hurt like a bitch but he would've at least gotten a taste of what it would be like. Of what might have been if he hadn't fucked up.

The hotel is nice, though, and he probably wouldn't mind doing this every now and then, if they lived in L.A. and didn't have to worry about touring or traveling or anything. He's pretty sure the place has one of those really nice gyms, too, and he could take advantage of that; he hadn't properly worked out in God knows how long. Their room has a fucking city view, almost on the top floor, the entire city a map in his eyes. Of course, he knows that the thought is stupid--suspicions would be high if they constantly checked in and out like that, and even with all the people he loved living there, he still fucking hated California--and it slips from his mind right as Patrick starts to stir. His internal clock guesses it's about 2, and within the hour they'd have to get going if they were going to get to soundcheck without having a search party sent for them. There probably already was one, since Patrick was usually there earlier than anyone. Maybe Ryan would have spread the news of him "working on new music at this inspirational place he'd come across" or something. He'd already told Brendon he'd personally come to get him, to keep up his own cover.

"Hey," Pete smiles softly, seeing Patrick spin around to face him, eyes still blurred with sleep and hair sticking out every which way. "Afternoon, sleepyhead."

Patrick responds with pulling the cover over his head and letting out the most dramatic groan Pete's heard in forever. "How long?"

"About an hour, I think." Pete grabs his phone off the nightstand to be sure. "You should probably leave fifteen minutes before me, though, to be safe."

"I can't believe we're going to be stuck on a bus together for three months," Patrick grumbles into the covers, muffled. "I can't believe I'm getting married and already have a mistress."

Pete kicks him under the sheets, "Hey, I am way classier than a mistress, ok?"

"This is a sign." Patrick keeps going like Pete hadn't even said anything, "I'm going to be a terrible husband and oh my god, Ryan's going to want to be fucking public, and I'm going to get like, a million congratulation letters for coming out or some shit, and this is going to be a fucking nightmare, holy shit--"

"Dude, chill." Pete rolls his eyes as Patrick tries to smother himself in the covers. "Everything's going to be fine."

"It will not--"

"Dude," He pulls down the covers, catching those baby blues like they're all he needs to survive, pressing a light kiss on his lips. "Chill."

Patrick stares at him intently for a full minute before leaning up and kissing him hard, though it's not long before he pulls away, nose scrunched. "Morning kissing is still gross if you don't brush your teeth."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Pete snorts as Patrick moves from him, climbing out of bed with a stretch and a yawn. "Hurry up with the shower, though, we don't have all day to laze around."

Patrick raises a brow, "I'm surprised you aren't making that lame joke about showering together to save water. Where is the Pete Wentz I used to know?"

"He grew up to be less of a sex-driven bastard, sorry to disappoint." He half-smiles as Patrick digs in his suitcase for something plain enough for a soundcheck. They'd probably change not long after, anyway. "Kids kind of take all the sex out of your sex life."

Patrick nods, "Bronx is worth it, though."

"Yeah," Pete watches Patrick's face light up with realization of his words. "He really is."

"Do you think--" Patrick starts after a pregnant pause to collect his words, interrupted by the annoying ringing of Pete's telephone, who only mimics Patrick's dramatic moan, grabbing his phone again and answering it. 

"Ryan is outside on my doorstep asking for you." Brendon hisses into the phone before Pete can even get out a greeting. "He looks kind of furious, but not like serial killer furious? Like, "you got a bad grade on a test" maybe, furious?"

"Oh, fuck," He says, scrambling out of the bed and moving to his own suitcase in search for clothes to slap on. Looks like he'd be starting out on the road without a shower. "Shit, like, tell him I went to get us breakfast or something? I can't cook worth shit, that's believable, right?"

"It might hold him off, I'm going let him come in and try to calm him down or something." He sighs, "Hurry, though?"

Pete grunts in agreement, shimming into his pants that had to be tighter than he remembered. "Just gonna say a goodbye and head right on over."

"Pick up coffee, too."

"Yeah," He hangs up, sliding into his shoes and making sure he'd got everything before knocking on the bathroom door, though hesitantly after hearing Patrick humming to himself in the shower. "Trick, I gotta run before your psycho fiancé kills my boyfriend in place of me."

"I'm sorry," He hears over the water. "He's really paranoid sometimes."

Pete shrugs, even though Patrick can't see it. "I mean, imagine being in his shoes, though. Can you blame him?"

"Can we not talk about that before I feel guiltier than I already do?" Patrick sounds tired, and Pete feels like he's hit a chord. "Maybe we shouldn't even talk about them when we're doing this. It feels like too much."

"They're sort of apart of this too, Patrick," Pete snaps, "You can't just pretend it's just us again and then walk out of here right back into his arms like it's not the same thing."

"It isn't the same thing." Patrick retorts. "This--what we've got--it's not--"

"I gotta go," Pete huffs, going to the door. "I'm not about to have this argument with you, not now."

"Always running," He hears Patrick's voice ringing in his ears as he rides down the elevator. "Talk real big, but you run from the damn fight every single time."

"This probably isn't going to work." He hears his own voice in his head as he steps out into the bright, chilliness that is winter in California, and he really, really hopes that Ryan has left because he doesn't have the energy to do anything but sleep, maybe.

He's pretty sure he picked up the wrong thing for Brendon at Starbucks and he knows he looks like shit when comes in the house, Ryan sitting at the kitchen table with his head on the table like he'd maybe smacked himself unconscious, and Brendon leaning against the counter. "Took you long enough, dear."

"Traffic was a bitch." He shrugs, giving Brendon the drink and pretending he didn't feel like a jackass wearing sunglasses inside but not willing himself to take them off. "What's he doing here?"

"Ryan came to kick your ass for messing with Patrick, actually." The corners of Brendon's mouth quirk upwards, "But I talked him down because he was obviously being crazy again. He also wanted some advice on, y'know, being in front of people."

Pete raises a brow, "Why would I know anything about that?"

"You had your dick plastered around the internet, Pete." He clasps his shoulder, "You had to give a press conference on your dick. On television."

"Oh, that," He feels a blush creep up his cheeks. "That wasn't anything, really. You just kind of tune out of the world, find yourself something to look at, and focus on what you need to say--er, play, I guess. Once you do that, you're good."

Brendon nods, mumbling something about his coffee tasting funny and wondering into the kitchen. Ryan finally sits up, and fuck, does he look like shit. His eyes are red, like he hadn't slept in a year or something. "Are you ok, man?"

He feels weird about being slightly concerned about someone he'd just been physically fighting with since the day they'd met, but if something were to happen to Ryan he knew Patrick would be torn up about it forever. Even if they were having a rough patch at the moment (only a day, he thinks bitterly, and already arguing like pros), he couldn't do that to him. Ryan just looks dazed, running a hand through his hair, leg bouncing under the table.

"Did he ever do this shit to you?" He asks rather bluntly, and before Pete can stop himself he's already spilled out a, "God, you don't even know."

"He just--This is embarrassing to talk about, most likely, but I proposed to him like, forever ago and I never gave him the ring because we just weren't there yet, and he wasn't ready for the press and everything, and I want him happy, y'know? But it kind of sucks not to be able to say how I feel and do what I please in public. And he just--He ran off last night, saying he wanted to go write off alone, which isn't totally weird, but I mean. I'd thought--"

"You should probably talk to Patrick about this, right, Pete?" Brendon nudges him harshly, returning to his side, and maybe it wasn't completely appropriate of him to wear a huge grin while Ryan weeps about his relationship. The relationship that he was making a hole for himself in. 

Pete just nods, drinking his own coffee and hoping to absorb it's mystic powers. "When we argued or disagreed, we just took a breather from each other and then came back and talked it out later, when we weren't yelling and calling each other pieces of shits. You could probably sit and talk with him about how you're feeling about this, though, if it's bothering you that bad." 

"Yeah, you're probably right." Ryan nods as his phone rings, and Pete can tell by the way his face lights up a bit that it's Patrick. He shouldn't feel upset by it, Patrick has that effect of hoards of young girls and boys all over the planet, but something in him still wants to punch Ryan in the face. "I'm going get going, though. I guess I'll see you two later."

He gets all the way to the door before he says a thank you, practically a whisper as the door shuts behind him.

"I can't believe I just helped Ryan Ross." Pete slumps against the counter.

"I can't believe you just talked to Ryan without getting in a fight with him." Brendon blinks, stunned.

They both look at each other in states of shocks before someone's alarm beeps and they hussle into Pete's car, speeding towards the stadium before someone comes searching, and Brendon doesn't ask about Patrick any more than Pete offers to tell him anything about it. Still, the whole way there Pete feels like he's burning alive at just the thought of seeing Patrick again.

**\---**

Panic! At The Disco is fucking amazing.

Pete makes sure he's done getting ready an entire hour before he's even scheduled to be done, standing in the wings and watching Brendon own the stage like it was made for him, even though barely anyone knows what his name is. The crowd screams for them pretty loudly for being an unsigned, unheard of band, but Pete can easily blame that one on the fact that Brendon looses his shirt halfway through the set, and even he can't take his off of that when it's right in his face. They all come off drenched in sweat, and he really wants to just give him a tight hug and tell him how fucking beautiful he looked out there, but Pete settles on a smile and a swift kiss before they nearly get run over by the stage crew running on to change the layout slightly and recheck the sound levels. 

He hasn't even seen Patrick since soundcheck, hasn't really gone looking for him either because he knows he was probably with Ryan and he'd already spent the night with him, no need to look clingy in the daylight. They hadn't really spoke much besides Patrick telling him to slow down a little when they got to the chorus of one song, and Pete catching Patrick's guitar before it fell over from where he'd propped it when he'd walked to get some water and talk to Joe about something. A part of him knew that Patrick was waiting on him to say something and own up to the fact that his fight or flight system was stuck permanently to flight, but he decided it could wait until after the show. He needed time to collect his thoughts, anyway.

Sure, he and Patrick were pretty different--they were practically polar opposites, if he was honest with himself, he thinks as people swarm around him, doing various things in preparation for the show. But they were good together, better together than separate, and they could fight it out like dogs and manage to come out tighter than ever. It had worked in the past, at least, and maybe this was new territory for him in the present, the omnipresent future, but he had a pretty good idea of how things worked. He'd worked hard to even get to the this stage and convince Patrick o give him another chance. He wasn't about to blow it within 24 hours.

He and Joe dick around right before the lights dim back down, the crowd chanting wildly for them all to come out. They were dressed more modern than Pete would've imagined, considering the tales Patrick had given about performing in suits on the last tour and frequently losing pieces after they were shucked off in the heat of the moment, stuff that they'd wear outside of a concert, hell, Andy didn't even have a shirt on and they were taking him to the other side where he could just readily jump to his drumset. Patrick comes up behind him right as the lights dim fully, the crowd's chanting turning into cheers and he swears he catches the briefest smile on Patrick's face before he shoots out on stage, and Pete's right behind him, breaking into the opening line of the first song.

The show goes faster than he can imagine, and he feels so old for having to take so many water breaks, but he'd never had to do this before, all his energy usually went to his legs while he was running around and scoring goals, but this time he was running off sole muscle memory. It felt amazing, though, seeing all those people out there coming to see them, not him maybe, but the band and hear the music and them shouting the words out like they had written them themselves. There's a few more songs left, but they're all a little tired, and something tells him it's about time he do what he's known best for: talking.

"How's it going tonight, Los Angeles!" He asks and the crowd gives their loud response as a whole, but he does catch the look Patrick gives him and he knows he's slightly off the hook for earlier. "Not sure if everyone knows me in here, but I'm Pete Wentz, filling in for my best friend Mikey Way, who told me to send you guys thanks for all the letters and tweets and all the shit, you rock for that."

The crowd eats it up, which only eggs him on, " I'm pretty sure no one else up here needs an introduction, but I'm gonna give them all one anyway, starting with the legandary Joseph Trohman on guitar!" Joe grins, playing a lazy riff that's more than enough for the hungry screamers. "Next up, Andrew motherfucking Hurley, keeping all your hearts beating on that rad drumkit behind me!" Andy does this thing with his sticks and then wails out something that Pete can feel through his entire body, just as Patrick makes his way back to the mic with his own guitar. "Last but sure as hell not the least, this adorable young man has been singing for you guys all night, give it up for Patrick Stump!"

Patrick rolls his eyes with a grin, "Pete Wentz, everybody."

"Man, being up here tonight with everybody feels fucking insane, we haven't done this since Trick was still in high school." The crowd laughs and Patrick shakes his head. "But we're not here to be all sappy and sentimental. You guys came out for a rock concert, right?"

The rest of the show goes smoothly, and for the closer (he was surprised a song that he'd remembered being written had been in the lineup and that it's always been there) he's managed to find his way over to Patrick's mic stand, screaming the all-too familiar lines into it as Patrick sings, and they're too close and he knows it, but he just can't walk away, not until the lights are out, not until the last song's done, not until the show is over.

"Great show, that was fucking awesome!" Brendon tells him, and he's all clean and Pete's not, so they still don't hug, but they talk amongst themselves about their varying experience on the stage that nice, and he tries not to be hurt when Patrick storms past him, straight towards the shower.

Joe snorts, "Someone's pissy."

"Hey, what was up with you being all in Patrick's area at the end?" Andy questions, towel slung on his shoulder. "That was--"

"I just wanted to try something, that's all." Pete shrugs, and it was sort of true, he hadn't intentially planned to do that. "Why, did I mess something up?"

Andy shakes his head, "That's just the loudest I've heard them for the encore in a while."

"Told you dude, the chicks this decade love guy on guy action, even if they know it's fake." Joe smirks knowingly, turning to Pete and talking lowly. "You two could totally use that to the advantage, y'know."

Pete tries to keep composure, "I have no idea what--"

"Do you two honestly think that you can keep something like that under wraps with us around?" Andy chuckles, "You've been shooting puppy dog eyes at him since the day we all decided to be a band, we know you two. It's all in your body language."

 

Pete huffs, "So are you guys gonna tell?"

"Not our shit to deal with." Joe shrugs. "You two know what you're doing. Just try and be more discreet, if you can. These people here, they aren't all your friends. They love stirring up drama just like anybody else, and the second they get a chance to fuck someone's shit up--"

"What he's trying to say is, keep your enemies close, and keep your 'friends' closer." Pete had never picked Andy the type to use air quotes, but at least now he can say he's seen it all.

Joe started to walk off, but then he turns on heel, thinking of something belatedly. "Oh, and if you guys decide to try shit on the bus, keep it down, for our sake, maybe?"

Pete flips him off and he laughs, going to follow Andy. Brendon smiles fondly, watches them as well.

"Got some good friends, Wentz." He notes.

"A shame they're stuck with me, though."

Brendon pinches his side, "Don't start."

"'M not." He yawns, but he's not really sleepy, just tired. "Please tell me there's another shower here that avaliable, because I fucking reek."

Brendon chuckles, tugging him along. "Let's find out."

**\---**

Pete can't sleep that night.

He blames it on the fact it's a unknown territory, an unfamiliar space where he's supposed to sleep and the bunks are too small to begin with, and someone's snoring doesn't help him at all, so he just sits in the lounge, scribbling in one of his notebooks, crossing out lines and replacing them with new ones in the light of the moon.

Patrick had went to bed as soon as they'd taken off, everyone else had stayed up and goofed off for a little while before succombing to sleep, so he's really not too surprised when Patrick shuffles in around 3 in the morning, and Patrick doesn't seem too surprised to see him, either. They have some weird sort of stare off, and Pete scoots over some on the couch behind the table and Patrick slides in next to him, resting his head on his shoulder. His hair is in Pete's face, so he only cards through it to brush it away, and it takes him all of two seconds after that to realize that Patrick is crying.

"Trick--"

"I don't want to talk about it." He sniffles, and Pete's heart pangs.

"Can we talk about this morning?" 

Patrick sniffles again, rubbing at his face. "What about it?"

"Tell me why me and Ryan aren't the same?"

Patrick sighs, and Pete puts his notebook on the table, pressing a small kiss to the top of Patrick's head. "Ryan and me...we're sort of independent. We don't have to struggle to get by, we don't have to constantly worry about the other, we're just--when we're together, we're good, and we're secure, and he's got me and I guess I've got him. I don't know how to describe it, it's just kind of weird like that. We just sort of fit each other. You and me, we just collide and crash and burn and we're completely dependant on the other, and it's not good at all but we're like magnets, and it hurts sometimes but we're stuck with each other and we know each other better than anyone else in the world, and that's just as scary as it is comforting. You two just take up different spots in the same hole, and it's weird, I guess, haing you both around for once. I don't like thinking of the two of you at the same time, I know what I'm doing here, I've already hurt you beyond repair, and if I did that to him..."

"You won't." Pete says it like he knows it. "I'm not gonna let you do that, ok? If shit gets too real, just tell me, and we're done. I'm a lot stronger than you all think I am. Just don't cut me out."

"I doubt I even could." Patrick laughs bitterly, and Pete just hums into his hair, wrapping his arm around him. "You should've seen me, I was such a mess. I couldn't go through that again. We can't go through that again."

Pete hums in agreement, "We're not gonna sleep in bunks this entire tour, are we?"

"We'll have hotel nights sometimes, but mostly, yeah." 

"Not sure I'm quite cut out for this." He yawns.

"You got me, though, if that's anything."

Pete turns more comfortably, pressing a kiss to Patrick's lips, cupping his face and resting his thumbs in his cheeks, before pulling away and pressing their foreheads together with a small smile as he notices how the moonlight hits him just right. He wishes he could just stay in this moment forever, leave everything and world behind and just be with him and be happy, but he's got responsibilities to handle and people who need him and he's got no more time to be selfish. He's got to make a change if he wants things to stay alright.

"It's everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may or may not post something extra next week, who knows, but i don't think it will have anything to do with this universe. no, it'll be something much darker....


End file.
